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diff --git a/7535-h/7535-h.htm b/7535-h/7535-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b29aa18 --- /dev/null +++ b/7535-h/7535-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9269 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>Old Ballads</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> +<style type="text/css"> + +body {margin:20%; text-align:justify} +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {color:#A82C28} +blockquote {font-size:14pt} +P {font-size:16pt} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Book of Old Ballads, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Book of Old Ballads + +Author: Various + +Editor: Beverly Nichols + +Release Date: May 15, 2003 [EBook #7535] +[Most recently updated: March 24, 2023] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOOK OF OLD BALLADS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Phil McLaury, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h2>BOOK OF BALLADS, Beverly Nichols, Complete</h2> + + +<br> +<hr> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + + + +<center> +<h1>A BOOK OF OLD BALLADS</h1> + +<h4>Selected and with an Introduction</h4> + +<h3>by</h3> + +<h2>BEVERLEY NICHOLS</h2> +<br><br> + +<img alt="001.jpg (14K)" src="images/001.jpg" height="223" width="280"> + +</center> +<br><br> +<h2>ACKNOWLEDGMENTS</h2> + +<p>The thanks and acknowledgments of the publishers are due to +the<br> +following: to Messrs. B. Feldman & Co., 125 Shaftesbury +Avenue, W.C. 2,<br> +for "It's a Long Way to Tipperary"; to Mr. Rudyard Kipling and +Messrs.<br> +Methuen & Co. for "Mandalay" from <i>Barrack Room +Ballads</i>; and to<br> +the Executors of the late Oscar Wilde for "The Ballad of Reading +Gaol."</p> + +<p>"The Earl of Mar's Daughter", "The Wife of Usher's Well", "The +Three<br> +Ravens", "Thomas the Rhymer", "Clerk Colvill", "Young Beichen", +"May<br> +Collin", and "Hynd Horn" have been reprinted from <i>English +and<br> +Scottish Ballads</i>, edited by Mr. G. L. Kittredge and the late +Mr. F.<br> +J. Child, and published by the Houghton Mifflin Company.</p> + +<p>The remainder of the ballads in this book, with the exception +of "John<br> +Brown's Body", are from <i>Percy's Reliques</i>, Volumes I and +II.</p> +<br><br><br><br> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">FOREWORD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">MANDALAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">THE FROLICKSOME DUKE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">THE KNIGHT AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">KING ESTMERE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">FAIR ROSAMOND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">THE BOY AND THE MANTLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">THE HEIR OF LINNE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID</a> </td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">SIR ANDREW BARTON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">MAY COLLIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">THE BLIND BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL GREEN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">THOMAS THE RHYMER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">YOUNG BEICHAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CLERK COLVILL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">SIR ALDINGAR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">EDOM O' GORDON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHEVY CHACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">GIL MORRICE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">THE CHILD OF ELLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHILD WATERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">KING EDWARD IV AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">SIR PATRICK SPENS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">EDWARD, EDWARD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">HYND HORN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">JOHN BROWN'S BODY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">TIPPERARY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">THE THREE RAVENS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap39">THE GABERLUNZIE MAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap40">THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap41">THE LYE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap42">THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<p><i>The source of these ballads will be found in the Appendix +at the end<br> +of this book.</i></p> +<br><br><br><br> +<h2>LIST OF COLOUR PLATES</h2> + +<p> +<a href="#estmere">KING ESTMERE</a><br> +<a href="#barbara">BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY</a><br> +<a href="#rosamond">FAIR ROSAMOND</a><br> +<a href="#mantle">THE BOY AND THE MANTLE</a><br> +<a href="#cophetua">KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID</a><br> +<a href="#collin">MAY COLLIN</a><br> +<a href="#rhymer">THOMAS THE RHYMER</a><br> +<a href="#beichan">YOUNG BEICHAN</a><br> +<a href="#colvill">CLERK COLVILL</a><br> +<a href="#morrice">GIL MORRICE</a><br> +<a href="#childwaters">CHILD WATERS</a><br> +<a href="#mars">THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER</a><br> +<a href="#hynd">HYND HORN</a><br> +<a href="#islington">THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON</a><br> +<a href="#ravens">THE THREE RAVENS</a><br> +<a href="#usher">THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL</a></p> + + +<br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap01">FOREWORD</a></h2> + +<h4>By</h4> + +<h3>Beverley Nichols</h3> + +<p>These poems are the very essence of the British spirit. They +are, to<br> +literature, what the bloom of the heather is to the Scot, and +the<br> +smell of the sea to the Englishman. All that is beautiful in the +old<br> +word "patriotism" ... a word which, of late, has been twisted to +such<br> +ignoble purposes ... is latent in these gay and full-blooded +measures.</p> + +<p>But it is not only for these reasons that they are so valuable +to the<br> +modern spirit. It is rather for their tonic qualities that they +should<br> +be prescribed in 1934. The post-war vintage of poetry is the +thinnest<br> +and the most watery that England has ever produced. But here, in +these<br> +ballads, are great draughts of poetry which have lost none of +their<br> +sparkle and none of their bouquet.</p> + +<p>It is worth while asking ourselves why this should be--why +these poems<br> +should "keep", apparently for ever, when the average modern poem +turns<br> +sour overnight. And though all generalizations are dangerous I +believe<br> +there is one which explains our problem, a very simple one.... +namely,<br> +that the eyes of the old ballad-singers were turned outwards, +while the<br> +eyes of the modern lyric-writer are turned inwards.</p> + +<p>The authors of the old ballads wrote when the world was young, +and<br> +infinitely exciting, when nobody knew what mystery might not lie +on the<br> +other side of the hill, when the moon was a golden lamp, lit by +a<br> +personal God, when giants and monsters stalked, without the +slightest<br> +doubt, in the valleys over the river. In such a world, what could +a man<br> +do but stare about him, with bright eyes, searching the horizon, +while<br> +his heart beat fast in the rhythm of a song?</p> + +<p>But now--the mysteries have gone. We know, all too well, what +lies on<br> +the other side of the hill. The scientists have long ago puffed +out,<br> +scornfully, the golden lamp of the night ... leaving us in the +uttermost<br> +darkness. The giants and the monsters have either skulked away or +have<br> +been tamed, and are engaged in writing their memoirs for the +popular<br> +press. And so, in a world where everything is known (and +nothing<br> +understood), the modern lyric-writer wearily averts his eyes, and +stares<br> +into his own heart.</p> + +<p>That way madness lies. All madmen are ferocious egotists, and +so are all<br> +modern lyric-writers. That is the first and most vital +difference<br> +between these ballads and their modern counterparts. The old<br> +ballad-singers hardly ever used the first person singular. The +modern<br> +lyric-writer hardly ever uses anything else.</p> +<br><br> +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>This is really such an important point that it is worth +labouring.</p> + +<p>Why is ballad-making a lost art? That it <i>is</i> a lost art +there can<br> +be no question. Nobody who is painfully acquainted with the +rambling,<br> +egotistical pieces of dreary versification, passing for +modern<br> +"ballads", will deny it.</p> + +<p>Ballad-making is a lost art for a very simple reason. Which +is, that we<br> +are all, nowadays, too sicklied o'er with the pale cast of +thought to<br> +receive emotions directly, without self-consciousness. If we +are<br> +wounded, we are no longer able to sing a song about a clean +sword, and a<br> +great cause, and a black enemy, and a waving flag. No--we must +needs go<br> +into long descriptions of our pain, and abstruse calculations +about its<br> +effect upon our souls.</p> + +<p>It is not "we" who have changed. It is life that has changed. +"We" are<br> +still men, with the same legs, arms and eyes as our ancestors. +But life<br> +has so twisted things that there are no longer any clean swords +nor<br> +great causes, nor black enemies. And the flags do not know which +way to<br> +flutter, so contrary are the winds of the modern world. All is +doubt.<br> +And doubt's colour is grey.</p> + +<p>Grey is no colour for a ballad. Ballads are woven from stuff +of<br> +primitive hue ... the red blood gushing, the gold sun shining, +the green<br> +grass growing, the white snow falling. Never will you find grey +in a<br> +ballad. You will find the black of the night and the raven's +wing,<br> +and the silver of a thousand stars. You will find the blue of +many<br> +summer skies. But you will not find grey.</p> +<br><br> +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>That is why ballad-making is a lost art. Or almost a lost art. +For even<br> +in this odd and musty world of phantoms which we call the +twentieth<br> +century, there are times when a man finds himself in a certain +place at<br> +a certain hour and something happens to him which takes him out +of<br> +himself. And a song is born, simply and sweetly, a song which +other<br> +men can sing, for all time, and forget themselves.</p> + +<p>Such a song was once written by a master at my old school, +Marlborough.<br> +He was a Scot. But he loved Marlborough with the sort of love +which the<br> +old ballad-mongers must have had-the sort of love which takes a +man on<br> +wings, far from his foolish little body.</p> + +<p>He wrote a song called "The Scotch Marlburian".</p> + +<p>Here it is:--</p> + +<p> Oh Marlborough, she's a toun o' touns<br> + We will say that and mair,<br> + We that ha' walked alang her douns<br> + And snuffed her Wiltshire air.<br> + A weary way ye'll hae to tramp<br> + Afore ye match the green<br> + O' Savernake and Barbery Camp<br> + And a' that lies atween!</p> + +<p>The infinite beauty of that phrase ... "and a' that lies +atween"! The<br> +infinite beauty as it is roared by seven hundred young throats +in<br> +unison! For in that phrase there drifts a whole pageant of +boyhood--the<br> +sound of cheers as a race is run on a stormy day in March, the +tolling<br> +of the Chapel bell, the crack of ball against bat, the sighs of +sleep<br> +in a long white dormitory.</p> + +<p>But you may say "What is all this to me? I wasn't at +Maryborough. I<br> +don't like schoolboys ... they strike me as dirty, noisy, and +usually<br> +foul-minded. Why should I go into raptures about such a song, +which<br> +seems only to express a highly debatable approval of a certain +method of<br> +education?"</p> + +<p>If you are asking yourself that sort of question, you are +obviously in<br> +very grave need of the tonic properties of this book. For after +you have<br> +read it, you will wonder why you ever asked it.</p> +<br><br> +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>I go back and back to the same point, at the risk of boring +you to<br> +distraction. For it is a point which has much more "to" it than +the<br> +average modern will care to admit, unless he is forced to do +so.</p> + +<p>You remember the generalization about the eyes ... how they +used to look<br> +<i>out</i>, but now look <i>in</i>? Well, listen to this....</p> + +<p> <i>I'm</i> feeling blue,<br> + <i>I</i> don't know what to do,<br> + 'Cos <i>I</i> love you<br> + And you don't love <i>me</i>.</p> + +<p>The above masterpiece is, as far as I am aware, imaginary. But +it<br> +represents a sort of <i>reductio ad absurdum</i> of thousands of +lyrics<br> +which have been echoing over the post-war world. Nearly all these +lyrics<br> +are melancholy, with the profound and primitive melancholy of the +negro<br> +swamp, and they are all violently egotistical.</p> + +<p>Now this, in the long run, is an influence of far greater evil +than one<br> +would be inclined at first to admit. If countless young men, +every<br> +night, are to clasp countless young women to their bosoms, and +rotate<br> +over countless dancing-floors, muttering "I'm feeling blue ... +<i>I</i><br> +don't know what to do", it is not unreasonable to suppose that +they will<br> +subconsciously apply some of the lyric's mournful egotism to +themselves.</p> + +<p>Anybody who has even a nodding acquaintance with modern +psychological<br> +science will be aware of the significance of "conditioning", as +applied<br> +to the human temperament. The late M. Coué "conditioned" +people into<br> +happiness by making them repeat, over and over again, the phrase +"Every<br> +day in every way I grow better and better and better."</p> + +<p>The modern lyric-monger exactly reverses M. Coué's +doctrine. He makes<br> +the patient repeat "Every night, with all my might, I grow worse +and<br> +worse and worse." Of course the "I" of the lyric-writer is an +imaginary<br> +"I", but if any man sings "<i>I'm</i> feeling blue", often +enough, to a<br> +catchy tune, he will be a superman if he does not eventually +apply that<br> +"I" to himself.</p> + +<p>But the "blueness" is really beside the point. It is the +<i>egotism</i><br> +of the modern ballad which is the trouble. Even when, as they<br> +occasionally do, the modern lyric-writers discover, to their<br> +astonishment, that they are feeling happy, they make the +happiness such<br> +a personal issue that half its tonic value is destroyed. It is +not, like<br> +the old ballads, just an outburst of delight, a sudden rapture at +the<br> +warmth of the sun, or the song of the birds, or the glint of +moonlight<br> +on a sword, or the dew in a woman's eyes. It is not an emotion so +sweet<br> +and soaring that self is left behind, like a dull chrysalis, +while the<br> +butterfly of the spirit flutters free. No ... the chrysalis is +never<br> +left behind, the "I", "I", "I", continues, in a maddening +monotone. And<br> +we get this sort of thing....</p> + +<p> <i>I</i> want to be happy,<br> + But <i>I</i> can't be happy<br> + Till <i>I've</i> made you happy too.</p> + +<p>And that, if you please, is one of the jolliest lyrics of the +last<br> +decade! That was a song which made us all smile and set all our +feet<br> +dancing!</p> + +<p>Even when their tale was woven out of the stuff of tragedy, +the old<br> +ballads were not tarnished with such morbid speculations. Read +the tale<br> +of the beggar's daughter of Bethnal Green. One shudders to think +what a<br> +modern lyric-writer would make of it. We should all be in tears +before<br> +the end of the first chorus.</p> + +<p>But here, a lovely girl leaves her blind father to search for +fortune.<br> +She has many adventures, and in the end, she marries a knight. +The<br> +ballad ends with words of almost childish simplicity, but they +are words<br> +which ring with the true tone of happiness:--</p> + +<p> Thus was the feast ended with joye and delighte<br> + A bridegroome most happy then was the young knighte<br> + In joy and felicitie long lived hee<br> + All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p>I said that the words were of almost childish simplicity. But +the<br> +student of language, and the would-be writer, might do worse than +study<br> +those words, if only to see how the cumulative effect of +brightness and<br> +radiance is gained. You may think the words are artless, but +just<br> +ponder, for a moment, the number of brilliant verbal symbols +which are<br> +collected into that tiny verse. There are only four lines. But +those<br> +lines contain these words ...</p> + +<p>Feast, joy, delight, bridegroom, happy, joy, young, felicity, +fair,<br> +pretty.</p> + +<p>Is that quite so artless, after all? Is it not rather like an +old and<br> +primitive plaque, where colour is piled on colour till you would +say<br> +the very wood will burst into flame ... and yet, the total effect +is one<br> +of happy simplicity?</p> +<br><br> +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>How were the early ballads born? Who made them? One man or +many? Were<br> +they written down, when they were still young, or was it only +after the<br> +lapse of many generations, when their rhymes had been sharpened +and<br> +their metres polished by constant repetition, that they were +finally<br> +copied out?</p> + +<p>To answer these questions would be one of the most fascinating +tasks<br> +which the detective in letters could set himself. Grimm, +listening<br> +in his fairyland, heard some of the earliest ballads, loved +them,<br> +pondered on them, and suddenly startled the world by announcing +that<br> +most ballads were not the work of a single author, but of the +people at<br> +large. <i>Das Volk dichtet</i>, he said. And that phrase got him +into a<br> +lot of trouble. People told him to get back to his fairyland and +not<br> +make such ridiculous suggestions. For how, they asked, could a +whole<br> +people make a poem? You might as well tell a thousand men to make +a<br> +tune, limiting each of them to one note!</p> + +<p>To invest Grimm's words with such an intention is quite +unfair.<br> +[Footnote: For a discussion of Grimm's theories, together with +much<br> +interesting speculation on the origin of the ballads, the reader +should<br> +study the admirable introduction to <i>English and Scottish +Popular<br> +Ballads</i>, published by George Harrap & Co., Ltd.] +Obviously a<br> +multitude of people could not, deliberately, make a single poem +any more<br> +than a multitude of people could, deliberately, make a single +picture,<br> +one man doing the nose, one man an eye and so on. Such a +suggestion is<br> +grotesque, and Grimm never meant it. If I might guess at what he +meant,<br> +I would suggest that he was thinking that the origin of ballads +must<br> +have been similar to the origin of the dance, (which was probably +the<br> +earliest form of aesthetic expression known to man).</p> + +<p>The dance was invented because it provided a means of +prolonging ecstasy<br> +by art. It may have been an ecstasy of sex or an ecstasy of +victory ...<br> +that doesn't matter. The point is that it gave to a group of +people an<br> +ordered means of expressing their delight instead of just leaping +about<br> +and making loud cries, like the animals. And you may be sure that +as the<br> +primitive dance began, there was always some member of the tribe +a<br> +little more agile than the rest--some man who kicked a little +higher or<br> +wriggled his body in an amusing way. And the rest of them copied +him,<br> +and incorporated his step into their own.</p> + +<p>Apply this analogy to the origin of ballads. It fits +perfectly.</p> + +<p>There has been a successful raid, or a wedding, or some great +deed of<br> +daring, or some other phenomenal thing, natural or supernatural. +And now<br> +that this day, which will ever linger in their memories, is +drawing to<br> +its close, the members of the tribe draw round the fire and begin +to<br> +make merry. The wine passes ... and tongues are loosened. And +someone<br> +says a phrase which has rhythm and a sparkle to it, and the +phrase is<br> +caught up and goes round the fire, and is repeated from mouth to +mouth.<br> +And then the local wit caps it with another phrase and a rhyme is +born.<br> +For there is always a local wit in every community, however +primitive.<br> +There is even a local wit in the monkey house at the zoo.</p> + +<p>And once you have that single rhyme and that little piece of +rhythm, you<br> +have the genesis of the whole thing. It may not be worked out +that<br> +night, nor even by the men who first made it. The fire may long +have<br> +died before the ballad is completed, and tall trees may stand +over the<br> +men and women who were the first to tell the tale. But rhyme and +rhythm<br> +are indestructible, if they are based on reality. "Not marble nor +the<br> +gilded monuments of princes shall outlive this powerful +rhyme."</p> + +<p>And so it is that some of the loveliest poems in the language +will ever<br> +remain anonymous. Needless to say, <i>all</i> the poems are +not<br> +anonymous. As society became more civilized it was inevitable +that the<br> +peculiar circumstances from which the earlier ballads sprang +should<br> +become less frequent. Nevertheless, about nearly all of the +ballads<br> +there is "a common touch", as though even the most self-conscious +author<br> +had drunk deep of the well of tradition, that sparkling well in +which so<br> +much beauty is distilled.</p> + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>But though the author or authors of most of the ballads may be +lost in<br> +the lists of time, we know a good deal about the minstrels who +sang<br> +them. And it is a happy thought that those minstrels were +such<br> +considerable persons, so honourably treated, so generously +esteemed.<br> +The modern mind, accustomed to think of the singer of popular +songs<br> +either as a highly paid music-hall artist, at the top of the +ladder, or<br> +a shivering street-singer, at the bottom of it, may find it +difficult to<br> +conceive of a minstrel as a sort of ambassador of song, moving +from<br> +court to court with dignity and ceremony.</p> + +<p>Yet this was actually the case. In the ballad of King Estmere, +for<br> +example, we see the minstrel finely mounted, and accompanied by +a<br> +harpist, who sings his songs for him. This minstrel, too, moves +among<br> +kings without any ceremony. As Percy has pointed out, "The +further we<br> +carry our enquiries back, the greater respect we find paid to +the<br> +professors of poetry and music among all the Celtic and Gothic +nations.<br> +Their character was deemed so sacred that under its sanction our +famous<br> +King Alfred made no scruple to enter the Danish camp, and was at +once<br> +admitted to the king's headquarters."</p> + +<p><i>And even so late as the time of Froissart, we have +minstrels and<br> +heralds mentioned together, as those who might securely go into +an<br> +enemy's country.</i></p> + +<p>The reader will perhaps forgive me if I harp back, once more, +to our<br> +present day and age, in view of the quite astonishing change in +national<br> +psychology which that revelation implies. Minstrels and heralds +were<br> +once allowed safe conduct into the enemy's country, in time of +war. Yet,<br> +in the last war, it was considered right and proper to hiss the +work of<br> +Beethoven off the stage, and responsible newspapers seriously +suggested<br> +that never again should a note of German music, of however +great<br> +antiquity, be heard in England! We are supposed to have +progressed<br> +towards internationalism, nowadays. Whereas, in reality, we have +grown<br> +more and more frenziedly national. We are very far behind the age +of<br> +Froissart, when there was a true internationalism--the +internationalism<br> +of art.</p> + +<p>To some of us that is still a very real internationalism. When +we hear a<br> +Beethoven sonata we do not think of it as issuing from the brain +of a<br> +"Teuton" but as blowing from the eternal heights of music whose +winds<br> +list nothing of frontiers.</p> + +<p>Man <i>needs</i> song, for he is a singing animal. Moreover, +he needs<br> +communal song, for he is a social animal. The military +authorities<br> +realized this very cleverly, and they encouraged the troops, +during the<br> +war, to sing on every possible occasion. Crazy pacifists, like +myself,<br> +may find it almost unbearably bitter to think that on each side +of<br> +various frontiers young men were being trained to sing themselves +to<br> +death, in a struggle which was hideously impersonal, a struggle +of<br> +machinery, in which the only winners were the armament +manufacturers.<br> +And crazy pacifists might draw a very sharp line indeed between +the<br> +songs which celebrated real personal struggles in the tiny wars +of the<br> +past, and the songs which were merely the prelude to thousands +of<br> +puzzled young men suddenly finding themselves choking in chlorine +gas,<br> +in the wars of the present.</p> + +<p>But even the craziest pacifist could not fail to be moved by +some of the<br> +ballads of the last war. To me, "Tipperary" is still the most +moving<br> +tune in the world. It happens to be a very good tune, from +the<br> +musician's point of view, a tune that Handel would not have been +ashamed<br> +to write, but that is not the point. Its emotional qualities are +due to<br> +its associations. Perhaps that is how it has always been, with +ballads.<br> +From the standard of pure aesthetics, one ought not to +consider<br> +"associations" in judging a poem or a tune, but with a song +like<br> +"Tipperary" you would be an inhuman prig if you didn't. We all +have our<br> +"associations" with this particular tune. For me, it recalls a +window in<br> +Hampstead, on a grey day in October 1914. I had been having the +measles,<br> +and had not been allowed to go back to school. Then suddenly, +down the<br> +street, that tune echoed. And they came marching, and marching, +and<br> +marching. And they were all so happy.</p> + +<p>So happy.</p> +<br><br> +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p>"Tipperary" is a true ballad, which is why it is included in +this book.<br> +So is "John Brown's Body". They were not written as ballads but +they<br> +have been promoted to that proud position by popular vote.</p> + +<p>It will now be clear, from the foregoing remarks, that there +are<br> +thousands of poems, labelled "ballads" from the eighteenth +century,<br> +through the romantic movement, and onwards, which are not ballads +at<br> +all. Swinburne's ballads, which so shocked our grandparents, bore +about<br> +as much relation to the true ballads as a vase of wax fruit to +a<br> +hawker's barrow. They were lovely patterns of words, woven like +some<br> +exquisite, foaming lace, but they were Swinburne, Swinburne all +the<br> +time. They had nothing to do with the common people. The common +people<br> +would not have understood a word of them.</p> + +<p>Ballads <i>must</i> be popular. And that is why it will always +remain<br> +one of the weirdest paradoxes of literature that the only man, +except<br> +Kipling, who has written a true ballad in the last fifty years is +the<br> +man who despised the people, who shrank from them, and jeered at +them,<br> +from his little gilded niche in Piccadilly. I refer, of course, +to Oscar<br> +Wilde's "Ballad of Reading Gaol." It was a true ballad, and it +was the<br> +best thing he ever wrote. For it was written <i>de profundis</i>, +when<br> +his hands were bloody with labour and his tortured spirit had +been down<br> +to the level of the lowest, to the level of the pavement ... nay, +lower<br> +... to the gutter itself. And in the gutter, with agony, he +learned the<br> +meaning of song.</p> + +<p>Ballads begin and end with the people. You cannot escape that +fact. And<br> +therefore, if I wished to collect the ballads of the future, the +songs<br> +which will endure into the next century (if there <i>is</i> any +song in<br> +the next century), I should not rake through the contemporary +poets, in<br> +the hope of finding gems of lasting brilliance. No. I should go +to the<br> +music-halls. I should listen to the sort of thing they sing when +the<br> +faded lady with the high bust steps forward and shouts, "Now +then, boys,<br> +all together!"</p> + +<p>Unless you can write the words "Now then, boys, all together", +at the<br> +top of a ballad, it is not really a ballad at all. That may sound +a<br> +sweeping statement, but it is true.</p> + +<p>In the present-day music-halls, although they have fallen from +their<br> +high estate, we should find a number of these songs which seem +destined<br> +for immortality. One of these is "Don't 'ave any more, Mrs. +Moore."</p> + +<p>Do you remember it?</p> + +<p> Don't 'ave any more, Mrs. Moore!<br> + Mrs. Moore, oh don't 'ave any more!<br> + Too many double gins<br> + Give the ladies double chins,<br> + So don't 'ave any more, Mrs. Moore!</p> + +<p>The whole of English "low life" (which is much the most +exciting part of<br> +English life) is in that lyric. It is as vivid as a Rowlandson +cartoon.<br> +How well we know Mrs. Moore! How plainly we see her ... the +amiable,<br> +coarse-mouthed, generous-hearted tippler, with her elbow on +countless<br> +counters, her damp coppers clutched in her rough hands, her +eyes<br> +staring, a little vacantly, about her. Some may think it is a +sordid<br> +picture, but I am sure that they cannot know Mrs. Moore very well +if<br> +they think that. They cannot know her bitter struggles, her +silent<br> +heroisms, nor her sardonic humour.</p> + +<p>Lyrics such as these will, I believe, endure long after many +of the most<br> +renowned and fashionable poets of to-day are forgotten. They all +have<br> +the same quality, that they can be prefaced by that inspiring +sentence,<br> +"Now then, boys--all together!" Or to put it another way, as in +the<br> +ballad of George Barnwell,</p> + +<p> All youths of fair England<br> + That dwell both far and near,<br> + Regard my story that I tell<br> + And to my song give ear.</p> + +<p>That may sound more dignified, but it amounts to the same +thing!</p> +<br><br> +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<p>But if the generation to come will learn a great deal from the +few<br> +popular ballads which we are still creating in our music-halls, +how much<br> +more shall we learn of history from these ballads, which rang +through<br> +the whole country, and were impregnated with the spirit of a +whole<br> +people! These ballads <i>are</i> history, and as such they should +be<br> +recognised.</p> + +<p>It has always seemed to me that we teach history in the wrong +way. We<br> +give boys the impression that it is an affair only of kings and +queens<br> +and great statesmen, of generals and admirals, and such-like +bores.<br> +Thousands of boys could probably draw you a map of many +pettifogging<br> +little campaigns, with startling accuracy, but not one in a +thousand<br> +could tell you what the private soldier carried in his knapsack. +You<br> +could get sheaves of competent essays, from any school, dealing +with<br> +such things as the Elizabethan ecclesiastical settlement, but how +many<br> +boys could tell you, even vaguely, what an English home was like, +what<br> +they ate, what coins were used, how their rooms were lit, and +what they<br> +paid their servants?</p> + +<p>In other words, how many history masters ever take the trouble +to sketch<br> +in the great background, the life of the common people? How many +even<br> +realize their <i>existence</i>, except on occasions of +national<br> +disaster, such as the Black Plague?</p> + +<p>A proper study of the ballads would go a long way towards +remedying this<br> +defect. Thomas Percy, whose <i>Reliques</i> must ever be the main +source<br> +of our information on all questions connected with ballads, has +pointed<br> +out that all the great events of the country have, sooner or +later,<br> +found their way into the country's song-book. But it is not only +the<br> +resounding names that are celebrated. In the ballads we hear the +echoes<br> +of the street, the rude laughter and the pointed jests. Sometimes +these<br> +ring so plainly that they need no explanation. At other times, we +have<br> +to go to Percy or to some of his successors to realize the +true<br> +significance of the song.</p> + +<p>For example, the famous ballad "John Anderson my Jo" seems, at +first<br> +sight, to be innocent of any polemical intention. But it was +written<br> +during the Reformation when, as Percy dryly observes, "the Muses +were<br> +deeply engaged in religious controversy." The zeal of the +Scottish<br> +reformers was at its height, and this zeal found vent in many a +pasquil<br> +discharged at Popery. It caused them, indeed, in their frenzy, +to<br> +compose songs which were grossly licentious, and to sing these +songs in<br> +rasping voices to the tunes of some of the most popular hymns in +the<br> +Latin Service.</p> + +<p>"John Anderson my Jo" was such a ballad composed for such an +occasion.<br> +And Percy, who was more qualified than any other man to read +between the<br> +lines, has pointed out that the first stanza contains a +satirical<br> +allusion to the luxury of the popish clergy, while the second, +which<br> +makes an apparently light reference to "seven bairns", is +actually<br> +concerned with the seven sacraments, five of which were the +spurious<br> +offspring of Mother Church.</p> + +<p>Thus it was in a thousand cases. The ballads, even the +lightest and most<br> +blossoming of them, were deep-rooted in the soil of English +history. How<br> +different from anything that we possess to-day! Great causes do +not lead<br> +men to song, nowadays they lead them to write letters to the +newspapers.<br> +A national thanksgiving cannot call forth a single rhyme or a +single bar<br> +of music. Who can remember a solitary verse of thanksgiving, from +any of<br> +our poets, in commemoration of any of the victories of the Great +War?<br> +Who can recall even a fragment of verse in praise of the +long-deferred<br> +coming of Peace?</p> + +<p>Very deeply significant is it that our only method of +commemorating<br> +Armistice Day was by a two minutes silence. No song. No music. +Nothing.<br> +The best thing we could do, we felt, was to keep quiet.</p> + + + + +<br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap02">MANDALAY</a></h2> +<img alt="033.jpg (13K)" src="images/033.jpg" height="174" width="248"> +<br><br> +<p> By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,<br> + There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' +me;<br> + For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they +say:<br> + 'Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to +Mandalay!'<br> + Come you back to Mandalay,<br> + Where the old Flotilla lay:<br> + Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to +Mandalay?<br> + On the road to Mandalay,<br> + Where the flyin'-fishes play,<br> + An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the +Bay!</p> + +<p> 'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,<br> + An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat--jes' the same as Theebaw's +Queen,<br> + An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,<br> + An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:<br> + Bloomin' idol made o' mud--<br> + Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd--<br> + Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she +stud!<br> + On the road to Mandalay...</p> + +<p> When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was +droppin' slow,<br> + She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing +<i>'Kulla-lo-lo!'</i><br> + With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my cheek<br> + We useter watch the steamers an' the <i>hathis</i> pilin' +teak.<br> + Elephints a-pilin' teak<br> + In the sludgy, squdgy creek,<br> + Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to +speak!<br> + On the road to Mandalay...</p> + +<p> But that's all shove be'ind me--long ago an' fur away,<br> + An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to +Mandalay;<br> + An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier +tells:<br> + 'If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed +naught<br> + else.'<br> + No! you won't 'eed nothin' else<br> + But them spicy garlic smells,<br> + An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly +temple-bells;<br> + On the road to Mandalay...</p> + +<p> I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty +pavin'-stones,<br> + An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my +bones;<br> + Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the +Strand,<br> + An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?<br> + Beefy face an' grubby 'and--<br> + Law! wot do they understand?<br> + I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener +land!<br> + On the road to Mandalay ...</p> + +<p> Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the +worst,<br> + Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a +thirst;<br> + For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would +be--<br> + By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;<br> + On the road to Mandalay,<br> + Where the old Flotilla lay,<br> + With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to +Mandalay!<br> + O the road to Mandalay,<br> + Where the flyin'-fishes play,<br> + An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost +the Bay!</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap03">THE FROLICKSOME DUKE</a></h2> + +<p>or</p> + +<h3>THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE</h3> +<img alt="036.jpg (17K)" src="images/036.jpg" height="193" width="240"> +<br><br> + +<p> Now as fame does report a young duke keeps a court,<br> + One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome sport:<br> + But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest,<br> + Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest:<br> + A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground,<br> + As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound.</p> + +<p> The Duke said to his men, William, Richard, and Ben,<br> + Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then.<br> + O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd<br> + To the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd:<br> + Then they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes and +hose,<br> + And they put him to bed for to take his repose.</p> + +<p> Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over durt,<br> + They did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt:<br> + On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown,<br> + They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.<br> + In the morning when day, then admiring he lay,<br> + For to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay.</p> + +<p> Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state,<br> + Till at last knights and squires they on him did wait;<br> + And the chamberling bare, then did likewise declare,<br> + He desired to know what apparel he'd ware:<br> + The poor tinker amaz'd on the gentleman gaz'd,<br> + And admired how he to this honour was rais'd.</p> + +<p> Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit,<br> + Which he straitways put on without longer dispute;<br> + With a star on his side, which the tinker offt ey'd,<br> + And it seem'd for to swell him "no" little with pride;<br> + For he said to himself, Where is Joan my sweet wife?<br> + Sure she never did see me so fine in her life.</p> + +<p> From a convenient place, the right duke his good grace<br> + Did observe his behaviour in every case.<br> + To a garden of state, on the tinker they wait,<br> + Trumpets sounding before him: thought he, this is great:<br> + Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did view,<br> + With commanders and squires in scarlet and blew.</p> + +<p> A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests,<br> + He was plac'd at the table above all the rest,<br> + In a rich chair "or bed," lin'd with fine crimson red,<br> + With a rich golden canopy over his head:<br> + As he sat at his meat, the musick play'd sweet,<br> + With the choicest of singing his joys to compleat.</p> + +<p> While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,<br> + Rich canary with sherry and tent superfine.<br> + Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl,<br> + Till at last he began for to tumble and roul<br> + From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,<br> + Being seven times drunker than ever before.</p> + +<p> Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,<br> + And restore him his old leather garments again:<br> + 'T was a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,<br> + And they carry'd him strait, where they found him at first;<br> + There he slept all the night, as indeed well he might;<br> + But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.</p> + +<p> For his glory "to him" so pleasant did seem,<br> + That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;<br> + Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought<br> + For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought;<br> + But his highness he said, Thou 'rt a jolly bold blade,<br> + Such a frolick before I think never was plaid.</p> + +<p> Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,<br> + Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak;<br> + Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres of ground,<br> + Thou shalt never, said he, range the counteries round,<br> + Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend,<br> + Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend.</p> + +<p> Then the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan my sweet bride<br> + Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?<br> + Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command?<br> + Then I shall be a squire I well understand:<br> + Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace,<br> + I was never before in so happy a case.</p> + +<img alt="039.jpg (3K)" src="images/039.jpg" height="98" width="142"> + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap04">THE KNIGHT & SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER</a></h2> +<img alt="040.jpg (13K)" src="images/040.jpg" height="159" width="243"> +<br><br> + +<p> There was a shepherd's daughter<br> + Came tripping on the waye;<br> + And there by chance a knighte shee mett,<br> + Which caused her to staye.</p> + +<p> Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide,<br> + These words pronounced hee:<br> + O I shall dye this daye, he sayd,<br> + If Ive not my wille of thee.</p> + +<p> The Lord forbid, the maide replyde,<br> + That you shold waxe so wode!<br> + "But for all that shee could do or saye,<br> + He wold not be withstood."</p> + +<p> Sith you have had your wille of mee,<br> + And put me to open shame,<br> + Now, if you are a courteous knighte,<br> + Tell me what is your name?</p> + +<p> Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,<br> + And some do call mee Jille;<br> + But when I come to the kings faire courte<br> + They call me Wilfulle Wille.</p> + +<p> He sett his foot into the stirrup,<br> + And awaye then he did ride;<br> + She tuckt her girdle about her middle,<br> + And ranne close by his side.</p> + +<p> But when she came to the brode water,<br> + She sett her brest and swamme;<br> + And when she was got out againe,<br> + She tooke to her heels and ranne.</p> + +<p> He never was the courteous knighte,<br> + To saye, faire maide, will ye ride?<br> + "And she was ever too loving a maide<br> + To saye, sir knighte abide."</p> + +<p> When she came to the kings faire courte,<br> + She knocked at the ring;<br> + So readye was the king himself<br> + To let this faire maide in.</p> + +<p> Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,<br> + Now Christ you save and see,<br> + You have a knighte within your courte,<br> + This daye hath robbed mee.</p> + +<p> What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?<br> + Of purple or of pall?<br> + Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring<br> + From off thy finger small?</p> + +<p> He hath not robbed mee, my liege,<br> + Of purple nor of pall:<br> + But he hath gotten my maiden head,<br> + Which grieves mee worst of all.</p> + +<p> Now if he be a batchelor,<br> + His bodye He give to thee;<br> + But if he be a married man,<br> + High hanged he shall bee.</p> + +<p> He called downe his merrye men all,<br> + By one, by two, by three;<br> + Sir William used to bee the first,<br> + But nowe the last came hee.</p> + +<p> He brought her downe full fortye pounde,<br> + Tyed up withinne a glove:<br> + Faire maide, He give the same to thee;<br> + Go, seeke thee another love.</p> + +<p> O Ile have none of your gold, she sayde,<br> + Nor Ile have none of your fee;<br> + But your faire bodye I must have,<br> + The king hath granted mee.</p> + +<p> Sir William ranne and fetched her then<br> + Five hundred pound in golde,<br> + Saying, faire maide, take this to thee,<br> + Thy fault will never be tolde.</p> + +<p> Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,<br> + These words then answered shee,<br> + But your own bodye I must have,<br> + The king hath granted mee.</p> + +<p> Would I had dranke the water cleare,<br> + When I did drinke the wine,<br> + Rather than any shepherds brat<br> + Shold bee a ladye of mine!</p> + +<p> Would I had drank the puddle foule,<br> + When I did drink the ale,<br> + Rather than ever a shepherds brat<br> + Shold tell me such a tale!</p> + +<p> A shepherds brat even as I was,<br> + You mote have let me bee,<br> + I never had come to the kings faire courte,<br> + To crave any love of thee.</p> + +<p> He sett her on a milk-white steede,<br> + And himself upon a graye;<br> + He hung a bugle about his necke,<br> + And soe they rode awaye.</p> + +<p> But when they came unto the place,<br> + Where marriage-rites were done,<br> + She proved herself a dukes daughtèr,<br> + And he but a squires sonne.</p> + +<p> Now marrye me, or not, sir knight,<br> + Your pleasure shall be free:<br> + If you make me ladye of one good towne,<br> + He make you lord of three.</p> + +<p> Ah! cursed bee the gold, he sayd,<br> + If thou hadst not been trewe,<br> + I shold have forsaken my sweet love,<br> + And have changed her for a newe.</p> + +<p> And now their hearts being linked fast,<br> + They joyned hand in hande:<br> + Thus he had both purse, and person too,<br> + And all at his commande.</p> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap05">KING ESTMERE</a></h2> +<img alt="045.jpg (15K)" src="images/045.jpg" height="171" width="233"> +<br><br> +<a name="estmere"></a> +<img alt="estmere.jpg (161K)" src="images/estmere.jpg" height="1037" width="750"> + +<p> Hearken to me, gentlemen,<br> + Come and you shall heare;<br> + Ile tell you of two of the boldest brethren<br> + That ever borne y-were.</p> + +<p> The tone of them was Adler younge,<br> + The tother was kyng Estmere;<br> + The were as bolde men in their deeds,<br> + As any were farr and neare.</p> + +<p> As they were drinking ale and wine<br> + Within kyng Estmeres halle:<br> + When will ye marry a wyfe, brothèr,<br> + A wyfe to glad us all?</p> + +<p> Then bespake him kyng Estmere,<br> + And answered him hastilee:<br> + I know not that ladye in any land<br> + That's able to marrye with mee.</p> + +<p> Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,<br> + Men call her bright and sheene;<br> + If I were kyng here in your stead,<br> + That ladye shold be my queene.</p> + +<p> Saies, Reade me, reade me, deare brother,<br> + Throughout merry Englànd,<br> + Where we might find a messenger<br> + Betwixt us towe to sende.</p> + +<p> Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brothèr,<br> + Ile beare you companye;<br> + Many throughe fals messengers are deceived,<br> + And I feare lest soe shold wee.</p> + +<p> Thus the renisht them to ryde<br> + Of twoe good renisht steeds,<br> + And when the came to kyng Adlands halle,<br> + Of redd gold shone their weeds.</p> + +<p> And when the came to kyng Adlands hall<br> + Before the goodlye gate,<br> + There they found good kyng Adlànd<br> + Rearing himselfe theratt.</p> + +<p> Now Christ thee save, good kyng Adland;<br> + Now Christ you save and see.<br> + Sayd, You be welcome, kyng Estmere,<br> + Right hartilye to mee.</p> + +<p> You have a daughter, said Adler younge,<br> + Men call her bright and sheene,<br> + My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,<br> + Of Englande to be queene.</p> + +<p> Yesterday was att my deere daughter<br> + Syr Bremor the kyng of Spayne;<br> + And then she nicked him of naye,<br> + And I doubt sheele do you the same.</p> + +<p> The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,<br> + And 'leeveth on Mahound;<br> + And pitye it were that fayre ladye<br> + Shold marrye a heathen hound.</p> + +<p> But grant to me, sayes kyng Estmere,<br> + For my love I you praye;<br> + That I may see your daughter deere<br> + Before I goe hence awaye.</p> + +<p> Although itt is seven yeers and more<br> + Since my daughter was in halle,<br> + She shall come once downe for your sake<br> + To glad my guestes alle.</p> + +<p> Downe then came that mayden fayre,<br> + With ladyes laced in pall,<br> + And halfe a hundred of bold knightes,<br> + To bring her from bowre to hall;<br> + And as many gentle squiers,<br> + To tend upon them all.</p> + +<p> The talents of golde were on her head sette,<br> + Hanged low downe to her knee;<br> + And everye ring on her small fingèr<br> + Shone of the chrystall free.</p> + +<p> Saies, God you save, my deere madam;<br> + Saies, God you save and see.<br> + Said, You be welcome, kyng Estmere,<br> + Right welcome unto mee.</p> + +<p> And if you love me, as you saye,<br> + Soe well and hartilye,<br> + All that ever you are comin about<br> + Sooner sped now itt shal bee.</p> + +<p> Then bespake her father deare:<br> + My daughter, I saye naye;<br> + Remember well the kyng of Spayne,<br> + What he sayd yesterday.</p> + +<p> He wold pull downe my hales and castles,<br> + And reeve me of my life.<br> + I cannot blame him if he doe,<br> + If I reave him of his wyfe.</p> + +<p> Your castles and your towres, father,<br> + Are stronglye built aboute;<br> + And therefore of the king of Spaine<br> + Wee neede not stande in doubt.</p> + +<p> Plight me your troth, nowe, kyng Estmère,<br> + By heaven and your righte hand,<br> + That you will marrye me to your wyfe,<br> + And make me queene of your land.</p> + +<p> Then kyng Estmere he plight his troth<br> + By heaven and his righte hand,<br> + That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,<br> + And make her queene of his land.</p> + +<p> And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,<br> + To goe to his owne countree,<br> + To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,<br> + That marryed the might bee.</p> + +<p> They had not ridden scant a myle,<br> + A myle forthe of the towne,<br> + But in did come the kyng of Spayne,<br> + With kempès many one.</p> + +<p> But in did come the kyng of Spayne,<br> + With manye a bold barone,<br> + Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter,<br> + Tother daye to carrye her home.</p> + +<p> Shee sent one after kyng Estmere<br> + In all the spede might bee,<br> + That he must either turne againe and fighte,<br> + Or goe home and loose his ladye.</p> + +<p> One whyle then the page he went,<br> + Another while he ranne;<br> + Tull he had oretaken king Estmere,<br> + I wis, he never blanne.</p> + +<p> Tydings, tydings, kyng Estmere!<br> + What tydinges nowe, my boye?<br> + O tydinges I can tell to you,<br> + That will you sore annoye.</p> + +<p> You had not ridden scant a mile,<br> + A mile out of the towne,<br> + But in did come the kyng of Spayne<br> + With kempès many a one:</p> + +<p> But in did come the kyng of Spayne<br> + With manye a bold barone,<br> + Tone daye to marrye king Adlands daughter,<br> + Tother daye to carry her home.</p> + +<p> My ladye fayre she greetes you well,<br> + And ever-more well by mee:<br> + You must either turne againe and fighte,<br> + Or goe home and loose your ladyè.</p> + +<p> Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brother,<br> + My reade shall ryde at thee,<br> + Whether it is better to turne and fighte,<br> + Or goe home and loose my ladye.</p> + +<p> Now hearken to me, sayes Adler yonge,<br> + And your reade must rise at me,<br> + I quicklye will devise a waye<br> + To sette thy ladye free.</p> + +<p> My mother was a westerne woman,<br> + And learned in gramaryè,<br> + And when I learned at the schole,<br> + Something she taught itt mee.</p> + +<p> There growes an hearbe within this field,<br> + And iff it were but knowne,<br> + His color, which is whyte and redd,<br> + It will make blacke and browne:</p> + +<p> His color, which is browne and blacke,<br> + Itt will make redd and whyte;<br> + That sworde is not in all Englande,<br> + Upon his coate will byte.</p> + +<p> And you shall be a harper, brother,<br> + Out of the north countrye;<br> + And He be your boy, soe faine of fighte,<br> + And beare your harpe by your knee.</p> + +<p> And you shal be the best harpèr,<br> + That ever tooke harpe in hand;<br> + And I wil be the best singèr,<br> + That ever sung in this lande.</p> + +<p> Itt shal be written on our forheads<br> + All and in grammaryè,<br> + That we towe are the boldest men,<br> + That are in all Christentyè.</p> + +<p> And thus they renisht them to ryde,<br> + On tow good renish steedes;<br> + And when they came to king Adlands hall,<br> + Of redd gold shone their weedes.</p> + +<p> And whan they came to kyng Adlands hall,<br> + Untill the fayre hall yate,<br> + There they found a proud portèr<br> + Rearing himselfe thereatt.</p> + +<p> Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud portèr;<br> + Sayes, Christ thee save and see.<br> + Nowe you be welcome, sayd the portèr,<br> + Of whatsoever land ye bee.</p> + +<p> Wee beene harpers, sayd Adler younge,<br> + Come out of the northe countrye;<br> + Wee beene come hither untill this place,<br> + This proud weddinge for to see.</p> + +<p> Sayd, And your color were white and redd,<br> + As it is blacke and browne,<br> + I wold saye king Estmere and his brother,<br> + Were comen untill this towne.</p> + +<p> Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,<br> + Layd itt on the porters arme:<br> + And ever we will thee, proud porter,<br> + Thow wilt saye us no harme.</p> + +<p> Sore he looked on king Estmere,<br> + And sore he handled the ryng,<br> + Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,<br> + He lett for no kind of thyng.</p> + +<p> King Estmere he stabled his steede<br> + Soe fayre att the hall bord;<br> + The froth, that came from his brydle bitte,<br> + Light in kyng Bremors beard.</p> + +<p> Saies, Stable thy steed, thou proud harper,<br> + Saies, Stable him in the stalle;<br> + It doth not beseeme a proud harper<br> + To stable 'him' in a kyngs halle.</p> + +<p> My ladde he is no lither, he said,<br> + He will doe nought that's meete;<br> + And is there any man in this hall<br> + Were able him to beate</p> + +<p> Thou speakst proud words, sayes the king of Spaine,<br> + Thou harper, here to mee:<br> + There is a man within this halle<br> + Will beate thy ladd and thee.</p> + +<p> O let that man come downe, he said,<br> + A sight of him wold I see;<br> + And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,<br> + Then he shall beate of mee.</p> + +<p> Downe then came the kemperye man,<br> + And looketh him in the eare;<br> + For all the gold, that was under heaven,<br> + He durst not neigh him neare.</p> + +<p> And how nowe, kempe, said the Kyng of Spaine,<br> + And how what aileth thee?<br> + He saies, It is writt in his forhead<br> + All and in gramaryè,<br> + That for all the gold that is under heaven<br> + I dare not neigh him nye.</p> + +<p> Then Kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe,<br> + And plaid a pretty thinge:<br> + The ladye upstart from the borde,<br> + And wold have gone from the king.</p> + +<p> Stay thy harpe, thou proud harper,<br> + For Gods love I pray thee,<br> + For and thou playes as thou beginns,<br> + Thou'lt till my bryde from mee.</p> + +<p> He stroake upon his harpe againe,<br> + And playd a pretty thinge;<br> + The ladye lough a loud laughter,<br> + As shee sate by the king.</p> + +<p> Saies, Sell me thy harpe, thou proud harper,<br> + And thy stringes all,<br> + For as many gold nobles 'thou shall have'<br> + As heere bee ringes in the hall.</p> + +<p> What wold ye doe with my harpe,' he sayd,'<br> + If I did sell itt yee?<br> + "To playe my wiffe and me a fitt,<br> + When abed together wee bee."</p> + +<p> Now sell me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay,<br> + As shee sitts by thy knee,<br> + And as many gold nobles I will give,<br> + As leaves been on a tree.</p> + +<p> And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay,<br> + Iff I did sell her thee?<br> + More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye<br> + To lye by mee then thee.</p> + +<p> Hee played agayne both loud and shrille,<br> + And Adler he did syng,<br> + "O ladye, this is thy owne true love;<br> + Noe harper, but a kyng.</p> + +<p> "O ladye, this is thy owne true love,<br> + As playnlye thou mayest see;<br> + And He rid thee of that foule paynim,<br> + Who partes thy love and thee."</p> + +<p> The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,<br> + And blushte and lookt agayne,<br> + While Adler he hath drawne his brande,<br> + And hath the Sowdan slayne.</p> + +<p> Up then rose the kemperye men,<br> + And loud they gan to crye:<br> + Ah; traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,<br> + And therefore yee shall dye.</p> + +<p> Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde,<br> + And swith he drew his brand;<br> + And Estmere he, and Adler yonge<br> + Right stiffe in slodr can stand.</p> + +<p> And aye their swordes soe sore can byte,<br> + Throughe help of Gramaryè,<br> + That soone they have slayne the kempery men,<br> + Or forst them forth to flee.</p> + +<p> Kyng Estmere took that fayre ladye,<br> + And marryed her to his wiffe,<br> + And brought her home to merry England<br> + With her to leade his life.</p> + + + +<img alt="057.jpg (4K)" src="images/057.jpg" height="135" width="111"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap06">KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY</a></h2> +<img alt="058.jpg (15K)" src="images/058.jpg" height="187" width="239"> +<br><br> +<p> An ancient story Ile tell you anon<br> + Of a notable prince, that was called King John;<br> + And he ruled England with maine and with might,<br> + For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.</p> + +<p> And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,<br> + Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùrye;<br> + How for his house-keeping, and high renowne,<br> + They rode poste for him to fair London towne.</p> + +<p> An hundred men, the king did heare say,<br> + The abbot kept in his house every day;<br> + And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,<br> + In velvet coates waited the abbot about.</p> + +<p> How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,<br> + Thou keepest a farre better house than mee,<br> + And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,<br> + I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.</p> + +<p> My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne,<br> + I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;<br> + And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere,<br> + For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.</p> + +<p> Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe,<br> + And now for the same thou needest must dye;<br> + For except thou canst answer me questions three,<br> + Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodìe.</p> + +<p> And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead,<br> + With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,<br> + Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,<br> + Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.</p> + +<p> Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,<br> + How soone I may ride the whole world about.<br> + And at the third question thou must not shrink,<br> + But tell me here truly what I do think.</p> + +<p> O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,<br> + Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:<br> + But if you will give me but three weekes space,<br> + Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.</p> + +<p> Now three weeks space to thee will I give,<br> + And that is the longest time thou hast to live;<br> + For if thou dost not answer my questions three,<br> + Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.</p> + +<p> Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,<br> + And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;<br> + But never a doctor there was so wise,<br> + That could with his learning an answer devise.</p> + +<p> Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,<br> + And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:<br> + How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;<br> + What newes do you bring us from good King John?</p> + +<p> "Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give;<br> + That I have but three days more to live:<br> + For if I do not answer him questions three,<br> + My head will be smitten from my bodie.</p> + +<p> The first is to tell him there in that stead,<br> + With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,<br> + Among all his liege men so noble of birth,<br> + To within one penny of all what he is worth.</p> + +<p> The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,<br> + How soon he may ride this whole world about:<br> + And at the third question I must not shrinke,<br> + But tell him there truly what he does thinke."</p> + +<p> Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,<br> + That a fool he may learn a wise man witt?<br> + Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,<br> + And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.</p> + +<p> Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,<br> + I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:<br> + And if you will but lend me your gowne,<br> + There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne.</p> + +<p> Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have,<br> + With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;<br> + With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,<br> + Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope.</p> + +<p> Now welcome, sire abbott, the king he did say,<br> + 'Tis well thou'rt come back to keep thy day;<br> + For and if thou canst answer my questions three,<br> + Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.</p> + +<p> And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,<br> + With my crowne of gold so fair on my head,<br> + Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,<br> + Tell me to one penny what I am worth.</p> + +<p> "For thirty pence our Saviour was sold<br> + Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told;<br> + And twenty nine is the worth of thee,<br> + For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee."</p> + +<p> The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,<br> + I did not thinke I had been worth so littel!<br> + --Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,<br> + How soon I may ride this whole world about.</p> + +<p> "You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,<br> + Until the next morning he riseth againe;<br> + And then your grace need not make any doubt,<br> + But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."</p> + +<p> The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,<br> + I did not think, it could be gone so soone!<br> + --Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,<br> + But tell me here truly what I do thinke.</p> + +<p> "Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:<br> + You thinke I'm the Abbot of Canterbùry;<br> + But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,<br> + That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."</p> + +<p> The king he laughed, and swore by the masse,<br> + He make thee lord abbot this day in his place!<br> + "Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,<br> + For alacke I can neither write ne reade."</p> + +<p> Four nobles a weeke, then I will give thee,<br> + For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;<br> + And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home,<br> + Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.</p> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap07">BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY</a></h2> +<img alt="063.jpg (8K)" src="images/063.jpg" height="100" width="250"> +<br><br> + +<a name="barbara"></a> +<img alt="barbara.jpg (141K)" src="images/barbara.jpg" height="1031" width="750"> + +<p> In Scarlet towne where I was borne,<br> + There was a faire maid dwellin,<br> + Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!<br> + Her name was Barbara Allen.</p> + +<p> All in the merrye month of May,<br> + When greene buds they were swellin,<br> + Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,<br> + For love of Barbara Allen.</p> + +<p> He sent his man unto her then,<br> + To the town where shee was dwellin;<br> + You must come to my master deare,<br> + Giff your name be Barbara Alien.</p> + +<p> For death is printed on his face,<br> + And ore his harte is stealin:<br> + Then haste away to comfort him,<br> + O lovelye Barbara Alien.</p> + +<p> Though death be printed on his face,<br> + And ore his harte is stealin,<br> + Yet little better shall he bee<br> + For bonny Barbara Alien.</p> + +<p> So slowly, slowly, she came up,<br> + And slowly she came nye him;<br> + And all she sayd, when there she came,<br> + Yong man, I think y'are dying.</p> + +<p> He turned his face unto her strait,<br> + With deadlye sorrow sighing;<br> + O lovely maid, come pity mee,<br> + Ime on my death-bed lying.</p> + +<p> If on your death-bed you doe lye,<br> + What needs the tale you are tellin;<br> + I cannot keep you from your death;<br> + Farewell, sayd Barbara Alien.</p> + +<p> He turned his face unto the wall,<br> + As deadlye pangs he fell in:<br> + Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,<br> + Adieu to Barbara Allen.</p> + +<p> As she was walking ore the fields,<br> + She heard the bell a knellin;<br> + And every stroke did seem to saye,<br> + Unworthye Barbara Allen.</p> + +<p> She turned her bodye round about,<br> + And spied the corps a coming:<br> + Laye down, lay down the corps, she sayd,<br> + That I may look upon him.</p> + +<p> With scornful eye she looked downe,<br> + Her cheeke with laughter swellin;<br> + Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,<br> + Unworthye Barbara Allen.</p> + +<p> When he was dead, and laid in grave,<br> + Her harte was struck with sorrowe,<br> + O mother, mother, make my bed,<br> + For I shall dye to-morrowe.</p> + +<p> Hard-harted creature him to slight,<br> + Who loved me so dearlye:<br> + O that I had beene more kind to him<br> + When he was alive and neare me!</p> + +<p> She, on her death-bed as she laye,<br> + Beg'd to be buried by him;<br> + And sore repented of the daye,<br> + That she did ere denye him.</p> + +<p> Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,<br> + And shun the fault I fell in:<br> + Henceforth take warning by the fall<br> + Of cruel Barbara Allen.</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap08">FAIR ROSAMOND</a></h2> +<img alt="067.jpg (9K)" src="images/067.jpg" height="131" width="244"> +<br><br> +<a name="rosamond"></a> +<img alt="rosamond.jpg (198K)" src="images/rosamond.jpg" height="1019" width="750"> + + +<p> When as King Henry rulde this land,<br> + The second of that name,<br> + Besides the queene, he dearly lovde<br> + A faire and comely dame.</p> + +<p> Most peerlesse was her beautye founde,<br> + Her favour, and her face;<br> + A sweeter creature in this worlde<br> + Could never prince embrace.</p> + +<p> Her crisped lockes like threads of golde<br> + Appeard to each mans sight;<br> + Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,<br> + Did cast a heavenlye light.</p> + +<p> The blood within her crystal cheekes<br> + Did such a colour drive,<br> + As though the lillye and the rose<br> + For mastership did strive.</p> + +<p> Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,<br> + Her name was called so,<br> + To whom our queene, dame Ellinor,<br> + Was known a deadlye foe.</p> + +<p> The king therefore, for her defence,<br> + Against the furious queene,<br> + At Woodstocke builded such a bower,<br> + The like was never scene.</p> + +<p> Most curiously that bower was built<br> + Of stone and timber strong,<br> + An hundred and fifty doors<br> + Did to this bower belong:</p> + +<p> And they so cunninglye contriv'd<br> + With turnings round about,<br> + That none but with a clue of thread,<br> + Could enter in or out.</p> + +<p> And for his love and ladyes sake,<br> + That was so faire and brighte,<br> + The keeping of this bower he gave<br> + Unto a valiant knighte.</p> + +<p> But fortune, that doth often frowne<br> + Where she before did smile,<br> + The kinges delighte and ladyes so<br> + Full soon shee did beguile:</p> + +<p> For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,<br> + Whom he did high advance,<br> + Against his father raised warres<br> + Within the realme of France.</p> + +<p> But yet before our comelye king<br> + The English land forsooke,<br> + Of Rosamond, his lady faire,<br> + His farewelle thus he tooke:</p> + +<p> "My Rosamonde, my only Rose,<br> + That pleasest best mine eye:<br> + The fairest flower in all the worlde<br> + To feed my fantasye:</p> + +<p> The flower of mine affected heart,<br> + Whose sweetness doth excelle:<br> + My royal Rose, a thousand times<br> + I bid thee nowe farwelle!</p> + +<p> For I must leave my fairest flower,<br> + My sweetest Rose, a space,<br> + And cross the seas to famous France,<br> + Proud rebelles to abase.</p> + +<p> But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt<br> + My coming shortlye see,<br> + And in my heart, when hence I am,<br> + Ile beare my Rose with mee."</p> + +<p> When Rosamond, that ladye brighte,<br> + Did heare the king saye soe,<br> + The sorrowe of her grieved heart<br> + Her outward lookes did showe;</p> + +<p> And from her cleare and crystall eyes<br> + The teares gusht out apace,<br> + Which like the silver-pearled dewe<br> + Ranne downe her comely face.</p> + +<p> Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,<br> + Did waxe both wan and pale,<br> + And for the sorrow she conceivde<br> + Her vitall spirits faile;</p> + +<p> And falling down all in a swoone<br> + Before King Henryes face,<br> + Full oft he in his princelye armes<br> + Her bodye did embrace:</p> + +<p> And twentye times, with watery eyes,<br> + He kist her tender cheeke,<br> + Untill he had revivde againe<br> + Her senses milde and meeke.</p> + +<p> Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?<br> + The king did often say.<br> + Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres<br> + My lord must part awaye.</p> + +<p> But since your grace on forrayne coastes<br> + Amonge your foes unkinde<br> + Must goe to hazard life and limbe,<br> + Why should I staye behinde?</p> + +<p> Nay rather, let me, like a page,<br> + Your sworde and target beare;<br> + That on my breast the blowes may lighte,<br> + Which would offend you there.</p> + +<p> Or lett mee, in your royal tent,<br> + Prepare your bed at nighte,<br> + And with sweete baths refresh your grace,<br> + Ar your returne from fighte.</p> + +<p> So I your presence may enjoye<br> + No toil I will refuse;<br> + But wanting you, my life is death;<br> + Nay, death Ild rather chuse!</p> + +<p> "Content thy self, my dearest love;<br> + Thy rest at home shall bee<br> + In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;<br> + For travell fits not thee.</p> + +<p> Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;<br> + Soft peace their sexe delights;<br> + Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;<br> + Gay feastes, not cruell fights.'</p> + +<p> My Rose shall safely here abide,<br> + With musicke passe the daye;<br> + Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes,<br> + My foes seeke far awaye.</p> + +<p> My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde,<br> + Whilst Ime in armour dighte;<br> + Gay galliards here my love shall dance,<br> + Whilst I my foes goe fighte.</p> + +<p> And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste<br> + To bee my loves defence;<br> + Be careful of my gallant Rose<br> + When I am parted hence."</p> + +<p> And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,<br> + As though his heart would breake:<br> + And Rosamonde, for very grief,<br> + Not one plaine word could speake.</p> + +<p> And at their parting well they mighte<br> + In heart be grieved sore:<br> + After that daye faire Rosamonde<br> + The king did see no more.</p> + +<p> For when his grace had past the seas,<br> + And into France was gone;<br> + With envious heart, Queene Ellinor,<br> + To Woodstocke came anone.</p> + +<p> And forth she calls this trustye knighte,<br> + In an unhappy houre;<br> + Who with his clue of twined thread,<br> + Came from this famous bower.</p> + +<p> And when that they had wounded him,<br> + The queene this thread did gette,<br> + And went where Ladye Rosamonde<br> + Was like an angell sette.</p> + +<p> But when the queene with stedfast eye<br> + Beheld her beauteous face,<br> + She was amazed in her minde<br> + At her exceeding grace.</p> + +<p> Cast off from thee those robes, she said,<br> + That riche and costlye bee;<br> + And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,<br> + Which I have brought to thee.</p> + +<p> Then presentlye upon her knees<br> + Sweet Rosamonde did fall;<br> + And pardon of the queene she crav'd<br> + For her offences all.</p> + +<p> "Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,"<br> + Faire Rosamonde did crye;<br> + "And lett mee not with poison stronge<br> + Enforced bee to dye.</p> + +<p> I will renounce my sinfull life,<br> + And in some cloyster bide;<br> + Or else be banisht, if you please,<br> + To range the world soe wide.</p> + +<p> And for the fault which I have done,<br> + Though I was forc'd thereto,<br> + Preserve my life, and punish mee<br> + As you thinke meet to doe."</p> + +<p> And with these words, her lillie handes<br> + She wrunge full often there;<br> + And downe along her lovely face<br> + Did trickle many a teare.</p> + +<p> But nothing could this furious queene<br> + Therewith appeased bee;<br> + The cup of deadlye poyson stronge,<br> + As she knelt on her knee,</p> + +<p> Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke;<br> + Who tooke it in her hand,<br> + And from her bended knee arose,<br> + And on her feet did stand:</p> + +<p> And casting up her eyes to heaven,<br> + She did for mercye calle;<br> + And drinking up the poison stronge,<br> + Her life she lost withalle.</p> + +<p> And when that death through everye limbe<br> + Had showde its greatest spite,<br> + Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse<br> + Shee was a glorious wight.</p> + +<p> Her body then they did entomb,<br> + When life was fled away,<br> + At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,<br> + As may be scene this day.</p> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap09">ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE</a></h2> +<img alt="076.jpg (18K)" src="images/076.jpg" height="166" width="239"> +<br><br> + +<p> When shaws beene sheene, and shradds full fayre,<br> + And leaves both large and longe,<br> + Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrest<br> + To heare the small birdes songe.</p> + +<p> The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,<br> + Sitting upon the spraye,<br> + Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,<br> + In the greenwood where he lay.</p> + +<p> Now by my faye, sayd jollye Robin,<br> + A sweaven I had this night;<br> + I dreamt me of tow wighty yemen,<br> + That fast with me can fight.</p> + +<p> Methought they did mee beate and binde,<br> + And tooke my bow mee froe;<br> + If I be Robin alive in this lande,<br> + He be wroken on them towe.</p> + +<p> Sweavens are swift, Master, quoth John,<br> + As the wind that blowes ore a hill;<br> + For if itt be never so loude this night,<br> + To-morrow itt may be still.</p> + +<p> Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,<br> + And John shall goe with mee,<br> + For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen,<br> + In greenwood where the bee.</p> + +<p> Then the cast on their gownes of grene,<br> + And tooke theyr bowes each one;<br> + And they away to the greene forrest<br> + A shooting forth are gone;</p> + +<p> Until they came to the merry greenwood,<br> + Where they had gladdest bee,<br> + There were the ware of a wight yeoman,<br> + His body leaned to a tree.</p> + +<p> A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,<br> + Of manye a man the bane;<br> + And he was clad in his capull hyde<br> + Topp and tayll and mayne.</p> + +<p> Stand you still, master, quoth Litle John,<br> + Under this tree so grene,<br> + And I will go to yond wight yeoman<br> + To know what he doth meane.</p> + +<p> Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,<br> + And that I farley finde:<br> + How offt send I my men beffore<br> + And tarry my selfe behinde?</p> + +<p> It is no cunning a knave to ken,<br> + And a man but heare him speake;<br> + And itt were not for bursting of my bowe.<br> + John, I thy head wold breake.</p> + +<p> As often wordes they breeden bale,<br> + So they parted Robin and John;<br> + And John is gone to Barnesdale;<br> + The gates he knoweth eche one.</p> + +<p> But when he came to Barnesdale,<br> + Great heavinesse there hee hadd,<br> + For he found tow of his owne fellòwes<br> + Were slaine both in a slade.</p> + +<p> And Scarlette he was flyinge a-foote<br> + Fast over stocke and stone,<br> + For the sheriffe with seven score men<br> + Fast after him is gone.</p> + +<p> One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John,<br> + With Christ his might and mayne:<br> + Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,<br> + To stopp he shall be fayne.</p> + +<p> Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,<br> + And fetteled him to shoote:<br> + The bow was made of a tender boughe,<br> + And fell down to his foote.</p> + +<p> Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,<br> + That ere thou grew on a tree;<br> + For now this day thou art my bale,<br> + My boote when thou shold bee.</p> + +<p> His shoote it was but loosely shott,<br> + Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,<br> + For itt mett one of the sheriffes men,<br> + Good William a Trent was slaine.</p> + +<p> It had bene better of William a Trent<br> + To have bene abed with sorrowe,<br> + Than to be that day in the green wood slade<br> + To meet with Little Johns arrowe.</p> + +<p> But as it is said, when men be mett<br> + Fyve can doe more than three,<br> + The sheriffe hath taken little John,<br> + And bound him fast to a tree.</p> + +<p> Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,<br> + And hanged hye on a hill.<br> + But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth John,<br> + If itt be Christ his will.</p> + +<p> Let us leave talking of Little John,<br> + And thinke of Robin Hood,<br> + How he is gone to the wight yeoman,<br> + Where under the leaves he stood.</p> + +<p> Good morrowe, good fellowe, sayd Robin so fayre,<br> + Good morrowe, good fellow, quoth he:<br> + Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy hande<br> + A good archere thou sholdst bee.</p> + +<p> I am wilfull of my waye, quo' the yeman,<br> + And of my morning tyde.<br> + He lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin;<br> + Good fellow, He be thy guide.</p> + +<p> I seeke an outlàwe, the straunger sayd,<br> + Men call him Robin Hood;<br> + Rather Ild meet with that proud outlawe,<br> + Than fortye pound so good.</p> + +<p> Now come with me, thou wighty yeman,<br> + And Robin thou soone shalt see:<br> + But first let us some pastime find<br> + Under the greenwood tree.</p> + +<p> First let us some masterye make<br> + Among the woods so even,<br> + Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood<br> + Here att some unsett steven.</p> + +<p> They cut them downe two summer shroggs,<br> + That grew both under a breere,<br> + And sett them threescore rood in twaine<br> + To shoot the prickes y-fere:</p> + +<p> Lead on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood,<br> + Lead on, I doe bidd thee.<br> + Nay by my faith, good fellowe, hee sayd,<br> + My leader thou shalt bee.</p> + +<p> The first time Robin shot at the pricke,<br> + He mist but an inch it froe:<br> + The yeoman he was an archer good,<br> + But he cold never shoote soe.</p> + +<p> The second shoote had the wightye yeman,<br> + He shote within the garlànde:<br> + But Robin he shott far better than hee,<br> + For he clave the good pricke wande.</p> + +<p> A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd;<br> + Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode;<br> + For an thy hart be as good as thy hand,<br> + Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.</p> + +<p> Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd he,<br> + Under the leaves of lyne.<br> + Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robin,<br> + Till thou have told me thine.</p> + +<p> I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hee,<br> + And Robin to take Ime sworne;<br> + And when I am called by my right name<br> + I am Guye of good Gisborne.</p> + +<p> My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin,<br> + By thee I set right nought:<br> + I am Robin Hood of Barnèsdale,<br> + Whom thou so long hast sought.</p> + +<p> He that hath neither beene kithe nor kin,<br> + Might have scene a full fayre sight,<br> + To see how together these yeomen went<br> + With blades both browne and bright.</p> + +<p> To see how these yeomen together they fought<br> + Two howres of a summers day:<br> + Yet neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy<br> + Them fettled to flye away.</p> + +<p> Robin was reachles on a roote,<br> + And stumbled at that tyde;<br> + And Guy was quick and nimble with-all,<br> + And hitt him ore the left side.</p> + +<p> Ah deere Lady, sayd Robin Hood, 'thou<br> + That art both mother and may,'<br> + I think it was never mans destinye<br> + To dye before his day.</p> + +<p> Robin thought on our ladye deere,<br> + And soone leapt up againe,<br> + And strait he came with a 'backward' stroke,<br> + And he Sir Guy hath slayne.</p> + +<p> He took Sir Guys head by the hayre,<br> + And sticked itt on his bowes end:<br> + Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe,<br> + Which thing must have an ende.</p> + +<p> Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe,<br> + And nicked Sir Guy in the face,<br> + That he was never on woman born,<br> + Cold tell whose head it was.</p> + +<p> Saies, Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye,<br> + And with me be not wrothe,<br> + If thou have had the worst stroked at my hand,<br> + Thou shalt have the better clothe.</p> + +<p> Robin did off his gowne of greene,<br> + And on Sir Guy did it throwe,<br> + And hee put on that capull hyde,<br> + That cladd him topp to toe.</p> + +<p> The bowe, the arrowes, and litle home,<br> + Now with me I will beare;<br> + For I will away to Barnesdale,<br> + To see how my men doe fare.</p> + +<p> Robin Hood sett Guyes horne to his mouth.<br> + And a loud blast in it did blow.<br> + That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,<br> + As he leaned under a lowe.</p> + +<p> Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe,<br> + I heare now tydings good,<br> + For yonder I heare Sir Guyes horne blowe,<br> + And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.</p> + +<p> Yonder I heare Sir Guyes home blowe,<br> + Itt blowes soe well in tyde,<br> + And yonder comes that wightye yeoman,<br> + Cladd in his capull hyde.</p> + +<p> Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy,<br> + Aske what thou wilt of mee.<br> + O I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin,<br> + Nor I will none of thy fee:</p> + +<p> But now I have slaine the master, he sayes,<br> + Let me go strike the knave;<br> + This is all the rewarde I aske;<br> + Nor noe other will I have.</p> + +<p> Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe,<br> + Thou sholdest have had a knights fee:<br> + But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad,<br> + Well granted it shale be.</p> + +<p> When Litle John heard his master speake,<br> + Well knewe he it was his steven:<br> + Now shall I be looset, quoth Litle John,<br> + With Christ his might in heaven.</p> + +<p> Fast Robin hee hyed him to Litle John,<br> + He thought to loose him belive;<br> + The sheriffe and all his companye<br> + Fast after him did drive.<br> + Stand abacke, stand abacke, sayd Robin;<br> + Why draw you mee soe neere?<br> + Itt was never the use in our countrye,<br> + Ones shrift another shold heere.</p> + +<p> But Robin pulled forth an Irysh kniffe,<br> + And losed John hand and foote,<br> + And gave him Sir Guyes bow into his hand,<br> + And bade it be his boote.</p> + +<p> Then John he took Guyes bow in his hand,<br> + His boltes and arrowes eche one:<br> + When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow,<br> + He fettled him to be gone.</p> + +<p> Towards his house in Nottingham towne<br> + He fled full fast away;<br> + And soe did all his companye:<br> + Not one behind wold stay.</p> + +<p> But he cold neither runne soe fast,<br> + Nor away soe fast cold ryde,<br> + But Litle John with an arrowe soe broad<br> + He shott him into the 'back'-syde.</p> + + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap10">THE BOY & THE MANTLE</a></h2> +<img alt="087.jpg (11K)" src="images/087.jpg" height="160" width="244"> +<br><br> +<a name="mantle"></a> +<img alt="mantle.jpg (152K)" src="images/mantle.jpg" height="1027" width="750"> + +<p> In Carleile dwelt King Arthur,<br> + A prince of passing might;<br> + And there maintain'd his table round,<br> + Beset with many a knight.</p> + +<p> And there he kept his Christmas<br> + With mirth and princely cheare,<br> + When, lo! a straunge and cunning boy<br> + Before him did appeare.</p> + +<p> A kirtle and a mantle<br> + This boy had him upon,<br> + With brooches, rings, and owches,<br> + Full daintily bedone.</p> + +<p> He had a sarke of silk<br> + About his middle meet;<br> + And thus, with seemely curtesy,<br> + He did King Arthur greet.</p> + +<p> "God speed thee, brave King Arthur,<br> + Thus feasting in thy bowre;<br> + And Guenever thy goodly queen,<br> + That fair and peerlesse flowre.</p> + +<p> "Ye gallant lords, and lordings,<br> + I wish you all take heed,<br> + Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose,<br> + Should prove a cankred weed."</p> + +<p> Then straitway from his bosome<br> + A little wand he drew;<br> + And with it eke a mantle<br> + Of wondrous shape and hew.</p> + +<p> "Now have you here, King Arthur,<br> + Have this here of mee,<br> + And give unto thy comely queen,<br> + All-shapen as you see.</p> + +<p> "No wife it shall become,<br> + That once hath been to blame."<br> + Then every knight in Arthur's court<br> + Slye glaunced at his dame.</p> + +<p> And first came Lady Guenever,<br> + The mantle she must trye.<br> + This dame, she was new-fangled,<br> + And of a roving eye.</p> + +<p> When she had tane the mantle,<br> + And all was with it cladde,<br> + From top to toe it shiver'd down,<br> + As tho' with sheers beshradde.</p> + +<p> One while it was too long,<br> + Another while too short,<br> + And wrinkled on her shoulders<br> + In most unseemly sort.</p> + +<p> Now green, now red it seemed,<br> + Then all of sable hue.<br> + "Beshrew me," quoth King Arthur,<br> + "I think thou beest not true."</p> + +<p> Down she threw the mantle,<br> + Ne longer would not stay;<br> + But, storming like a fury,<br> + To her chamber flung away.</p> + +<p> She curst the whoreson weaver,<br> + That had the mantle wrought:<br> + And doubly curst the froward impe,<br> + Who thither had it brought.</p> + +<p> "I had rather live in desarts<br> + Beneath the green-wood tree;<br> + Than here, base king, among thy groomes,<br> + The sport of them and thee."</p> + +<p> Sir Kay call'd forth his lady,<br> + And bade her to come near:<br> + "Yet, dame, if thou be guilty,<br> + I pray thee now forbear."</p> + +<p> This lady, pertly gigling,<br> + With forward step came on,<br> + And boldly to the little boy<br> + With fearless face is gone.</p> + +<p> When she had tane the mantle,<br> + With purpose for to wear;<br> + It shrunk up to her shoulder,<br> + And left her b--- side bare.</p> + +<p> Then every merry knight,<br> + That was in Arthur's court,<br> + Gib'd, and laught, and flouted,<br> + To see that pleasant sport.</p> + +<p> Downe she threw the mantle,<br> + No longer bold or gay,<br> + But with a face all pale and wan,<br> + To her chamber slunk away.</p> + +<p> Then forth came an old knight,<br> + A pattering o'er his creed;<br> + And proffer'd to the little boy<br> + Five nobles to his meed;</p> + +<p> "And all the time of Christmass<br> + Plumb-porridge shall be thine,<br> + If thou wilt let my lady fair<br> + Within the mantle shine."</p> + +<p> A saint his lady seemed,<br> + With step demure and slow,<br> + And gravely to the mantle<br> + With mincing pace doth goe.</p> + +<p> When she the same had taken,<br> + That was so fine and thin,<br> + It shrivell'd all about her,<br> + And show'd her dainty skin.</p> + +<p> Ah! little did HER mincing,<br> + Or HIS long prayers bestead;<br> + She had no more hung on her,<br> + Than a tassel and a thread.</p> + +<p> Down she threwe the mantle,<br> + With terror and dismay,<br> + And, with a face of scarlet,<br> + To her chamber hyed away.</p> + +<p> Sir Cradock call'd his lady,<br> + And bade her to come neare:<br> + "Come, win this mantle, lady,<br> + And do me credit here.</p> + +<p> "Come, win this mantle, lady,<br> + For now it shall be thine,<br> + If thou hast never done amiss,<br> + Sith first I made thee mine."</p> + +<p> The lady, gently blushing,<br> + With modest grace came on,<br> + And now to trye the wondrous charm<br> + Courageously is gone.</p> + +<p> When she had tane the mantle,<br> + And put it on her backe,<br> + About the hem it seemed<br> + To wrinkle and to cracke.</p> + +<p> "Lye still," shee cryed, "O mantle!<br> + And shame me not for nought,<br> + I'll freely own whate'er amiss,<br> + Or blameful I have wrought.</p> + +<p> "Once I kist Sir Cradocke<br> + Beneathe the green-wood tree:<br> + Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth<br> + Before he married mee."</p> + +<p> When thus she had her shriven,<br> + And her worst fault had told,<br> + The mantle soon became her<br> + Right comely as it shold.</p> + +<p> Most rich and fair of colour,<br> + Like gold it glittering shone:<br> + And much the knights in Arthur's court<br> + Admir'd her every one.</p> + +<p> Then towards King Arthur's table<br> + The boy he turn'd his eye:<br> + Where stood a boar's head garnished<br> + With bayes and rosemarye.</p> + +<p> When thrice he o'er the boar's head<br> + His little wand had drawne,<br> + Quoth he, "There's never a cuckold's knife<br> + Can carve this head of brawne."</p> + +<p> Then some their whittles rubbed<br> + On whetstone, and on hone:<br> + Some threwe them under the table,<br> + And swore that they had none.</p> + +<p> Sir Cradock had a little knife,<br> + Of steel and iron made;<br> + And in an instant thro' the skull<br> + He thrust the shining blade.</p> + +<p> He thrust the shining blade<br> + Full easily and fast;<br> + And every knight in Arthur's court<br> + A morsel had to taste.</p> + +<p> The boy brought forth a horne,<br> + All golden was the rim:<br> + Saith he, "No cuckolde ever can<br> + Set mouth unto the brim.</p> + +<p> "No cuckold can this little horne<br> + Lift fairly to his head;<br> + But or on this, or that side,<br> + He shall the liquor shed."</p> + +<p> Some shed it on their shoulder,<br> + Some shed it on their thigh;<br> + And hee that could not hit his mouth,<br> + Was sure to hit his eye.</p> + +<p> Thus he, that was a cuckold,<br> + Was known of every man:<br> + But Cradock lifted easily,<br> + And wan the golden can.</p> + +<p> Thus boar's head, horn and mantle,<br> + Were this fair couple's meed:<br> + And all such constant lovers,<br> + God send them well to speed.</p> + +<p> Then down in rage came Guenever,<br> + And thus could spightful say,<br> + "Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully<br> + Hath borne the prize away.</p> + +<p> "See yonder shameless woman,<br> + That makes herselfe so clean:<br> + Yet from her pillow taken<br> + Thrice five gallants have been.</p> + +<p> "Priests, clarkes, and wedded men,<br> + Have her lewd pillow prest:<br> + Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth<br> + Must beare from all the rest."</p> + +<p> Then bespake the little boy,<br> + Who had the same in hold:<br> + "Chastize thy wife, King Arthur,<br> + Of speech she is too bold:</p> + +<p> "Of speech she is too bold,<br> + Of carriage all too free;<br> + Sir King, she hath within thy hall<br> + A cuckold made of thee.</p> + +<p> "All frolick light and wanton<br> + She hath her carriage borne:<br> + And given thee for a kingly crown<br> + To wear a cuckold's horne."</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap11">THE HEIR OF LINNE</a></h2> +<img alt="096.jpg (13K)" src="images/096.jpg" height="151" width="237"> +<br><br> +<h3>PART THE FIRST</h3> + +<p> Lithe and listen, gentlemen,<br> + To sing a song I will beginne:<br> + It is of a lord of faire Scotland,<br> + Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne.</p> + +<p> His father was a right good lord,<br> + His mother a lady of high degree;<br> + But they, alas! were dead, him froe,<br> + And he lov'd keeping companie.</p> + +<p> To spend the daye with merry cheare,<br> + To drinke and revell every night,<br> + To card and dice from eve to morne,<br> + It was, I ween, his hearts delighte.</p> + +<p> To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare,<br> + To alwaye spend and never spare,<br> + I wott, an' it were the king himselfe,<br> + Of gold and fee he mote be bare.</p> + +<p> Soe fares the unthrifty lord of Linne<br> + Till all his gold is gone and spent;<br> + And he maun sell his landes so broad,<br> + His house, and landes, and all his rent.</p> + +<p> His father had a keen stewarde,<br> + And John o' the Scales was called hee:<br> + But John is become a gentel-man,<br> + And John has gott both gold and fee.</p> + +<p> Sayes, Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne,<br> + Let nought disturb thy merry cheere;<br> + Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad,<br> + Good store of gold Ile give thee heere,</p> + +<p> My gold is gone, my money is spent;<br> + My lande nowe take it unto thee:<br> + Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales,<br> + And thine for aye my lande shall bee.</p> + +<p> Then John he did him to record draw,<br> + And John he cast him a gods-pennie;<br> + But for every pounde that John agreed,<br> + The lande, I wis, was well worth three.</p> + +<p> He told him the gold upon the borde,<br> + He was right glad his land to winne;<br> + The gold is thine, the land is mine,<br> + And now Ile be the lord of Linne.</p> + +<p> Thus he hath sold his land soe broad,<br> + Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne,<br> + All but a poore and lonesome lodge,<br> + That stood far off in a lonely glenne.</p> + +<p> For soe he to his father hight.<br> + My sonne, when I am gonne, sayd hee,<br> + Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad,<br> + And thou wilt spend thy gold so free:</p> + +<p> But sweare me nowe upon the roode,<br> + That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend;<br> + For when all the world doth frown on thee,<br> + Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.</p> + +<p> The heire of Linne is full of golde:<br> + And come with me, my friends, sayd hee,<br> + Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make,<br> + And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee.</p> + +<p> They ranted, drank, and merry made,<br> + Till all his gold it waxed thinne;<br> + And then his friendes they slunk away;<br> + They left the unthrifty heire of Linne.</p> + +<p> He had never a penny in his purse,<br> + Never a penny left but three,<br> + And one was brass, another was lead,<br> + And another it was white money.</p> + +<p> Nowe well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,<br> + Nowe well-aday, and woe is mee,<br> + For when I was the lord of Linne,<br> + I never wanted gold nor fee.</p> + +<p> But many a trustye friend have I,<br> + And why shold I feel dole or care?<br> + Ile borrow of them all by turnes,<br> + Soe need I not be never bare.</p> + +<p> But one, I wis, was not at home;<br> + Another had payd his gold away;<br> + Another call'd him thriftless loone,<br> + And bade him sharpely wend his way.</p> + +<p> Now well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,<br> + Now well-aday, and woe is me;<br> + For when I had my landes so broad,<br> + On me they liv'd right merrilee.</p> + +<p> To beg my bread from door to door<br> + I wis, it were a brenning shame:<br> + To rob and steale it were a sinne:<br> + To worke my limbs I cannot frame.</p> + +<p> Now Ile away to lonesome lodge,<br> + For there my father bade me wend;<br> + When all the world should frown on mee<br> + I there shold find a trusty friend.</p> + +<br><br> +<h3>PART THE SECOND</h3> + +<p> Away then hyed the heire of Linne<br> + Oer hill and holt, and moor and fenne,<br> + Untill he came to lonesome lodge,<br> + That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.</p> + +<p> He looked up, he looked downe,<br> + In hope some comfort for to winne:<br> + But bare and lothly were the walles.<br> + Here's sorry cheare, quo' the heire of Linne.</p> + +<p> The little windowe dim and darke<br> + Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe;<br> + No shimmering sunn here ever shone;<br> + No halesome breeze here ever blew.</p> + +<p> No chair, ne table he mote spye,<br> + No cheerful hearth, ne welcome bed,<br> + Nought save a rope with renning noose,<br> + That dangling hung up o'er his head.</p> + +<p> And over it in broad letters,<br> + These words were written so plain to see:<br> + "Ah! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all,<br> + And brought thyselfe to penurie?</p> + +<p> "All this my boding mind misgave,<br> + I therefore left this trusty friend:<br> + Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace,<br> + And all thy shame and sorrows end."</p> + +<p> Sorely shent wi' this rebuke,<br> + Sorely shent was the heire of Linne,<br> + His heart, I wis, was near to brast With guilt and sorrowe, +shame<br> +and sinne.</p> + +<p> Never a word spake the heire of Linne,<br> + Never a word he spake but three:<br> + "This is a trusty friend indeed,<br> + And is right welcome unto mee."</p> + +<p> Then round his necke the corde he drewe,<br> + And sprung aloft with his bodie:<br> + When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine,<br> + And to the ground came tumbling hee.</p> + +<p> Astonyed lay the heire of Linne,<br> + Ne knewe if he were live or dead:<br> + At length he looked, and saw a bille,<br> + And in it a key of gold so redd.</p> + +<p> He took the bill, and lookt it on,<br> + Strait good comfort found he there:<br> + It told him of a hole in the wall,<br> + In which there stood three chests in-fere.</p> + +<p> Two were full of the beaten golde,<br> + The third was full of white money;<br> + And over them in broad letters<br> + These words were written so plaine to see:</p> + +<p> "Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere;<br> + Amend thy life and follies past;<br> + For but thou amend thee of thy life,<br> + That rope must be thy end at last."</p> + +<p> And let it bee, sayd the heire of Linne;<br> + And let it bee, but if I amend:<br> + For here I will make mine avow,<br> + This reade shall guide me to the end.</p> + +<p> Away then went with a merry cheare,<br> + Away then went the heire of Linne;<br> + I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne,<br> + Till John o' the Scales house he did winne.</p> + +<p> And when he came to John o' the Scales,<br> + Upp at the speere then looked hee;<br> + There sate three lords upon a rowe,<br> + Were drinking of the wine so free.</p> + +<p> And John himself sate at the bord-head,<br> + Because now lord of Linne was hee.<br> + I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales,<br> + One forty pence for to lend mee.</p> + +<p> Away, away, thou thriftless loone;<br> + Away, away, this may not bee:<br> + For Christs curse on my head, he sayd,<br> + If ever I trust thee one pennìe.</p> + +<p> Then bespake the heire of Linne,<br> + To John o' the Scales wife then spake he:<br> + Madame, some almes on me bestowe,<br> + I pray for sweet Saint Charitìe.</p> + +<p> Away, away, thou thriftless loone,<br> + I swear thou gettest no almes of mee;<br> + For if we shold hang any losel heere,<br> + The first we wold begin with thee.</p> + +<p> Then bespake a good fellòwe,<br> + Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord<br> + Sayd, Turn againe, thou heire of Linne;<br> + Some time thou wast a well good lord;</p> + +<p> Some time a good fellow thou hast been,<br> + And sparedst not thy gold nor fee;<br> + Therefore He lend thee forty pence,<br> + And other forty if need bee.</p> + +<p> And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales,<br> + To let him sit in thy companie:<br> + For well I wot thou hadst his land,<br> + And a good bargain it was to thee.</p> + +<p> Up then spake him John o' the Scales,<br> + All wood he answer'd him againe:<br> + Now Christs curse on my head, he sayd,<br> + But I did lose by that bargàine.</p> + +<p> And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne,<br> + Before these lords so faire and free,<br> + Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape,<br> + By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee.</p> + +<p> I draw you to record, lords, he said.<br> + With that he cast him a gods pennie:<br> + Now by my fay, sayd the heire of Linne,<br> + And here, good John, is thy monèy.</p> + +<p> And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold,<br> + And layd them down upon the bord:<br> + All woe begone was John o' the Scales,<br> + Soe shent he cold say never a word.</p> + +<p> He told him forth the good red gold,<br> + He told it forth with mickle dinne.<br> + The gold is thine, the land is mine,<br> + And now Ime againe the lord of Linne.</p> + +<p> Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellòwe,<br> + Forty pence thou didst lend me:<br> + Now I am againe the lord of Linne,<br> + And forty pounds I will give thee.</p> + +<p> He make the keeper of my forrest,<br> + Both of the wild deere and the tame;<br> + For but I reward thy bounteous heart,<br> + I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame.</p> + +<p> Now welladay! sayth Joan o' the Scales:<br> + Now welladay! and woe is my life!<br> + Yesterday I was lady of Linne,<br> + Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife.</p> + +<p> Now fare thee well, sayd the heire of Linne;<br> + Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said hee:<br> + Christs curse light on me, if ever again<br> + I bring my lands in jeopardy.</p> + +<img alt="105.jpg (3K)" src="images/105.jpg" height="124" width="90"> + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap12">KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID</a></h2> +<img alt="106.jpg (8K)" src="images/106.jpg" height="122" width="230"> +<br><br> +<a name="cophetua"></a> +<img alt="cophetua.jpg (147K)" src="images/cophetua.jpg" height="991" width="750"> + +<p> I Read that once in Affrica<br> + A princely wight did raine,<br> + Who had to name Cophetua,<br> + As poets they did faine:<br> + From natures lawes he did decline,<br> + For sure he was not of my mind.<br> + He cared not for women-kinde,<br> + But did them all disdaine.<br> + But, marke, what hapened on a day,<br> + As he out of his window lay,<br> + He saw a beggar all in gray,<br> + The which did cause his paine.</p> + +<p> The blinded boy, that shootes so trim,<br> + From heaven downe did hie;<br> + He drew a dart and shot at him,<br> + In place where he did lye:<br> + Which soone did pierse him to the quicke.<br> + And when he felt the arrow pricke,<br> + Which in his tender heart did sticke,<br> + He looketh as he would dye.<br> + What sudden chance is this, quoth he,<br> + That I to love must subject be,<br> + Which never thereto would agree,<br> + But still did it defie?</p> + +<p> Then from the window he did come,<br> + And laid him on his bed,<br> + A thousand heapes of care did runne<br> + Within his troubled head:<br> + For now he meanes to crave her love,<br> + And now he seekes which way to proove<br> + How he his fancie might remoove,<br> + And not this beggar wed.<br> + But Cupid had him so in snare,<br> + That this poor begger must prepare<br> + A salve to cure him of his care,<br> + Or els he would be dead.</p> + +<p> And, as he musing thus did lye,<br> + He thought for to devise<br> + How he might have her companye,<br> + That so did 'maze his eyes.<br> + In thee, quoth he, doth rest my life;<br> + For surely thou shalt be my wife,<br> + Or else this hand with bloody knife<br> + The Gods shall sure suffice.<br> + Then from his bed he soon arose,<br> + And to his pallace gate he goes;<br> + Full little then this begger knowes<br> + When she the king espies.</p> + +<p> The Gods preserve your majesty,<br> + The beggers all gan cry:<br> + Vouchsafe to give your charity<br> + Our childrens food to buy.<br> + The king to them his pursse did cast,<br> + And they to part it made great haste;<br> + This silly woman was the last<br> + That after them did hye.<br> + The king he cal'd her back againe,<br> + And unto her he gave his chaine;<br> + And said, With us you shal remaine<br> + Till such time as we dye:</p> + +<p> For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife,<br> + And honoured for my queene;<br> + With thee I meane to lead my life,<br> + As shortly shall be seene:<br> + Our wedding shall appointed be,<br> + And every thing in its degree:<br> + Come on, quoth he, and follow me,<br> + Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.<br> + What is thy name, faire maid? quoth he.<br> + Penelophon, O king, quoth she;<br> + With that she made a lowe courtsey;<br> + A trim one as I weene.</p> + +<p> Thus hand in hand along they walke<br> + Unto the king's pallace:<br> + The king with curteous comly talke<br> + This beggar doth imbrace:<br> + The begger blusheth scarlet red,<br> + And straight againe as pale as lead,<br> + But not a word at all she said,<br> + She was in such amaze.<br> + At last she spake with trembling voyce,<br> + And said, O king, I doe rejoyce<br> + That you wil take me from your choyce,<br> + And my degree's so base.</p> + +<p> And when the wedding day was come,<br> + The king commanded strait<br> + The noblemen both all and some<br> + Upon the queene to wait.<br> + And she behaved herself that day,<br> + As if she had never walkt the way;<br> + She had forgot her gown of gray,<br> + Which she did weare of late.<br> + The proverbe old is come to passe,<br> + The priest, when he begins his masse,<br> + Forgets that ever clerke he was;<br> + He knowth not his estate.</p> + +<p> Here you may read, Cophetua,<br> + Though long time fancie-fed,<br> + Compelled by the blinded boy<br> + The begger for to wed:<br> + He that did lovers lookes disdaine,<br> + To do the same was glad and faine,<br> + Or else he would himselfe have slaine,<br> + In storie, as we read.<br> + Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,<br> + But pitty now thy servant heere,<br> + Least that it hap to thee this yeare,<br> + As to that king it did.</p> + +<p> And thus they led a quiet life<br> + Duringe their princely raigne;<br> + And in a tombe were buried both,<br> + As writers sheweth plaine.<br> + The lords they tooke it grievously,<br> + The ladies tooke it heavily,<br> + The commons cryed pitiously,<br> + Their death to them was paine,<br> + Their fame did sound so passingly,<br> + That it did pierce the starry sky,<br> + And throughout all the world did flye<br> + To every princes realme.</p> + + +<img alt="110.jpg (3K)" src="images/110.jpg" height="126" width="72"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap13">SIR ANDREW BARTON</a></h2> +<img alt="111.jpg (16K)" src="images/111.jpg" height="162" width="238"> +<br><br> + + +<p> 'When Flora with her fragrant flowers<br> + Bedeckt the earth so trim and gaye,<br> + And Neptune with his daintye showers<br> + Came to present the monthe of Maye;'<br> + King Henrye rode to take the ayre,<br> + Over the river of Thames past hee;<br> + When eighty merchants of London came,<br> + And downe they knelt upon their knee.</p> + +<p> "O yee are welcome, rich merchants;<br> + Good saylors, welcome unto mee."<br> + They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,<br> + But rich merchànts they cold not bee:<br> + "To France nor Flanders dare we pass:<br> + Nor Bourdeaux voyage dare we fare;<br> + And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,<br> + Who robbs us of our merchant ware."</p> + +<p> King Henrye frowned, and turned him rounde,<br> + And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might,<br> + "I thought he had not beene in the world,<br> + Durst have wrought England such unright."<br> + The merchants sighed, and said, alas!<br> + And thus they did their answer frame,<br> + He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas,<br> + And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name.</p> + +<p> The king lookt over his left shoulder,<br> + And an angrye look then looked hee:<br> + "Have I never a lorde in all my realme,<br> + Will feitch yond tray tor unto me?"<br> + Yea, that dare I; Lord Howard sayes;<br> + Yea, that dare I with heart and hand;<br> + If it please your grace to give me leave,<br> + Myselfe wil be the only man.</p> + +<p> Thou art but yong; the kyng replyed:<br> + Yond Scott hath numbered manye a yeare.<br> + "Trust me, my liege, lie make him quail,<br> + Or before my prince I will never appeare."<br> + Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,<br> + And chuse them over my realme so free;<br> + Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,<br> + To guide the great shipp on the sea.</p> + +<p> The first man, that Lord Howard chose,<br> + Was the ablest gunner in all the realm,<br> + Thoughe he was three score yeeres and ten;<br> + Good Peter Simon was his name.<br> + Peter, sais hee, I must to the sea,<br> + To bring home a traytor live or dead:<br> + Before all others I have chosen thee;<br> + Of a hundred gunners to be the head.</p> + +<p> If you, my lord, have chosen mee<br> + Of a hundred gunners to be the head,<br> + Then hang me up on your maine-mast tree,<br> + If I misse my marke one shilling bread.<br> + My lord then chose a boweman rare,<br> + "Whose active hands had gained fame."<br> + In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne,<br> + And William Horseley was his name.</p> + +<p> Horseley, said he, I must with speede<br> + Go seeke a traytor on the sea,<br> + And now of a hundred bowemen brave<br> + To be the head I have chosen thee.<br> + If you, quoth hee, have chosen mee<br> + Of a hundred bowemen to be the head<br> + On your main-mast He hanged bee,<br> + If I miss twelvescore one penny bread.</p> + +<p> With pikes and gunnes, and bowemen bold,<br> + This noble Howard is gone to the sea;<br> + With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare,<br> + Out at Thames mouth sayled he.<br> + And days he scant had sayled three,<br> + Upon the 'voyage,' he tooke in hand,<br> + But there he mett with a noble shipp,<br> + And stoutely made itt stay and stand.</p> + +<p> Thou must tell me, Lord Howard said,<br> + Now who thou art, and what's thy name;<br> + And shewe me where they dwelling is:<br> + And whither bound, and whence thou came.<br> + My name is Henry Hunt, quoth hee<br> + With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind;<br> + I and my shipp doe both belong<br> + To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne.</p> + +<p> Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt,<br> + As thou hast sayled by daye and by night,<br> + Of a Scottish rover on the seas;<br> + Men call him Sir Andrew Barton, knight!<br> + Then ever he sighed, and said alas!<br> + With a grieved mind, and well away!<br> + But over-well I knowe that wight,<br> + I was his prisoner yesterday.</p> + +<p> As I was sayling uppon the sea,<br> + A Burdeaux voyage for to fare;<br> + To his hach-borde he clasped me,<br> + And robd me of all my merchant ware:<br> + And mickle debts, God wot, I owe,<br> + And every man will have his owne;<br> + And I am nowe to London bounde,<br> + Of our gracious king to beg a boone.</p> + +<p> That shall not need, Lord Howard sais;<br> + Lett me but once that robber see,<br> + For every penny tane thee froe<br> + It shall be doubled shillings three.<br> + Nowe God forefend, the merchant said,<br> + That you should seek soe far amisse!<br> + God keepe you out of that traitors hands!<br> + Full litle ye wott what a man hee is.</p> + +<p> Hee is brasse within, and steele without,<br> + With beames on his topcastle stronge;<br> + And eighteen pieces of ordinance<br> + He carries on each side along:<br> + And he hath a pinnace deerlye dight,<br> + St. Andrewes crosse that is his guide;<br> + His pinnace beareth ninescore men,<br> + And fifteen canons on each side.</p> + +<p> Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one;<br> + I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall;<br> + He wold overcome them everye one,<br> + If once his beames they doe downe fall.<br> + This is cold comfort, sais my lord,<br> + To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea:<br> + Yet He bring him and his ship to shore,<br> + Or to Scottland hee shall carrye mee.</p> + +<p> Then a noble gunner you must have,<br> + And he must aim well with his ee,<br> + And sinke his pinnace into the sea,<br> + Or else hee never orecome will bee:<br> + And if you chance his shipp to borde,<br> + This counsel I must give withall,<br> + Let no man to his topcastle goe<br> + To strive to let his beams downe fall.</p> + +<p> And seven pieces of ordinance,<br> + I pray your honour lend to mee,<br> + On each side of my shipp along,<br> + And I will lead you on the sea.<br> + A glasse He sett, that may be seene<br> + Whether you sail by day or night;<br> + And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the clocke<br> + You shall meet with Sir Andrewe Barton knight.</p> + +<p> THE SECOND PART</p> + +<p> The merchant sett my lorde a glasse<br> + Soe well apparent in his sight,<br> + And on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke,<br> + He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton knight.<br> + His hachebord it was 'gilt' with gold,<br> + Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee:<br> + Nowe by my faith, Lord Howarde sais,<br> + This is a gallant sight to see.</p> + +<p> Take in your ancyents, standards eke,<br> + So close that no man may them see;<br> + And put me forth a white willowe wand,<br> + As merchants use to sayle the sea.<br> + But they stirred neither top, nor mast;<br> + Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by.<br> + What English churles are yonder, he sayd,<br> + That can soe little curtesye?</p> + +<p> Now by the roode, three yeares and more<br> + I have beene admirall over the sea;<br> + And never an English nor Portingall<br> + Without my leave can passe this way.<br> + Then called he forth his stout pinnace;<br> + "Fetch backe yond pedlars nowe to mee:<br> + I sweare by the masse, yon English churles<br> + Shall all hang att my maine-mast tree."</p> + +<p> With that the pinnace itt shot off,<br> + Full well Lord Howard might it ken;<br> + For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast,<br> + And killed fourteen of his men.<br> + Come hither, Simon, sayes my lord,<br> + Looke that thy word be true, thou said;<br> + For at my maine-mast thou shalt hang,<br> + If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread.</p> + +<p> Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold;<br> + His ordinance he laid right lowe;<br> + He put in chaine full nine yardes long,<br> + With other great shott lesse, and moe;<br> + And he lette goe his great gunnes shott:<br> + Soe well he settled itt with his ee,<br> + The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe,<br> + He see his pinnace sunke in the sea.</p> + +<p> And when he saw his pinnace sunke,<br> + Lord, how his heart with rage did swell!<br> + "Nowe cutt my ropes, itt is time to be gon;<br> + Ile fetch yond pedlars backe mysell."<br> + When my lord sawe Sir Andrewe loose,<br> + Within his heart he was full faine:<br> + "Now spread your ancyents, strike up your drummes,<br> + Sound all your trumpetts out amaine."</p> + +<p> Fight on, my men, Sir Andrewe sais,<br> + Weale howsoever this geere will sway;<br> + Itt is my Lord Admirall of England,<br> + Is come to seeke mee on the sea.<br> + Simon had a sonne, who shott right well,<br> + That did Sir Andrewe mickle scare;<br> + In att his decke he gave a shott,<br> + Killed threescore of his men of warre.</p> + +<p> Then Henrye Hunt with rigour hott<br> + Came bravely on the other side,<br> + Soone he drove downe his fore-mast tree,<br> + And killed fourscore men beside.<br> + Nowe, out alas! Sir Andrewe cryed,<br> + What may a man now thinke, or say?<br> + Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee,<br> + He was my prisoner yesterday.</p> + +<p> Come hither to me, thou Gordon good,<br> + That aye wast readye att my call:<br> + I will give thee three hundred markes,<br> + If thou wilt let my beames downe fall.<br> + Lord Howard hee then calld in haste,<br> + "Horseley see thou be true in stead;<br> + For thou shalt at the maine-mast hang,<br> + If thou misse twelvescore one penny bread."</p> + +<p> Then Gordon swarved the maine-mast tree,<br> + He swarved it with might and maine;<br> + But Horseley with a bearing arrowe,<br> + Stroke the Gordon through the braine;<br> + And he fell unto the haches again,<br> + And sore his deadlye wounde did bleed:<br> + Then word went through Sir Andrews men,<br> + How that the Gordon hee was dead.</p> + +<p> Come hither to mee, James Hambilton,<br> + Thou art my only sisters sonne,<br> + If thou wilt let my beames downe fall<br> + Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne.<br> + With that he swarved the maine-mast tree,<br> + He swarved it with nimble art;<br> + But Horseley with a broad arròwe<br> + Pierced the Hambilton thorough the heart:</p> + +<p> And downe he fell upon the deck,<br> + That with his blood did streame amaine:<br> + Then every Scott cryed, Well-away!<br> + Alas! a comelye youth is slaine.<br> + All woe begone was Sir Andrew then,<br> + With griefe and rage his heart did swell:<br> + "Go fetch me forth my armour of proofe,<br> + For I will to the topcastle mysell."</p> + +<p> "Goe fetch me forth my armour of proofe;<br> + That gilded is with gold soe cleare:<br> + God be with my brother John of Barton!<br> + Against the Portingalls hee it ware;<br> + And when he had on this armour of proofe,<br> + He was a gallant sight to see:<br> + Ah! nere didst thou meet with living wight,<br> + My deere brother, could cope with thee."</p> + +<p> Come hither Horseley, sayes my lord,<br> + And looke your shaft that itt goe right,<br> + Shoot a good shoote in time of need,<br> + And for it thou shalt be made a knight.<br> + Ile shoot my best, quoth Horseley then,<br> + Your honour shall see, with might and maine;<br> + But if I were hanged at your maine-mast,<br> + I have now left but arrowes twaine.</p> + +<p> Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree,<br> + With right good will he swarved then:<br> + Upon his breast did Horseley hitt,<br> + But the arrow bounded back agen.<br> + Then Horseley spyed a privye place<br> + With a perfect eye in a secrette part;<br> + Under the spole of his right arme<br> + He smote Sir Andrew to the heart.</p> + +<p> "Fight on, my men," Sir Andrew sayes,<br> + "A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine;<br> + He but lye downe and bleede a while,<br> + And then He rise and fight againe.<br> + Fight on, my men," Sir Andrew sayes,<br> + "And never flinch before the foe;<br> + And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse<br> + Until you heare my whistle blowe."</p> + +<p> They never heard his whistle blow--<br> + Which made their hearts waxe sore adread:<br> + Then Horseley sayd, Aboard, my lord,<br> + For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead.<br> + They boarded then his noble shipp,<br> + They boarded it with might and maine;<br> + Eighteen score Scots alive they found,<br> + The rest were either maimed or slaine.</p> + +<p> Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand,<br> + And off he smote Sir Andrewes head,<br> + "I must have left England many a daye,<br> + If thou wert alive as thou art dead."<br> + He caused his body to be cast<br> + Over the hatchboard into the sea,<br> + And about his middle three hundred crownes:<br> + "Wherever thou land this will bury thee."</p> + +<p> Thus from the warres Lord Howard came,<br> + And backe he sayled ore the maine,<br> + With mickle joy and triumphing<br> + Into Thames mouth he came againe.<br> + Lord Howard then a letter wrote,<br> + And sealed it with scale and ring;<br> + "Such a noble prize have I brought to your grace,<br> + As never did subject to a king:</p> + +<p> "Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee;<br> + A braver shipp was never none:<br> + Nowe hath your grace two shipps of warr,<br> + Before in England was but one."<br> + King Henryes grace with royall cheere<br> + Welcomed the noble Howard home,<br> + And where, said he, is this rover stout,<br> + That I myselfe may give the doome?</p> + +<p> "The rover, he is safe, my liege,<br> + Full many a fadom in the sea;<br> + If he were alive as he is dead,<br> + I must have left England many a day:<br> + And your grace may thank four men i' the ship<br> + For the victory wee have wonne,<br> + These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt,<br> + And Peter Simon, and his sonne."</p> + +<p> To Henry Hunt, the king then sayd,<br> + In lieu of what was from thee tane,<br> + A noble a day now thou shalt have,<br> + Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne.<br> + And Horseley thou shalt be a knight,<br> + And lands and livings shalt have store;<br> + Howard shall be erle Surrye hight,<br> + As Howards erst have beene before.</p> + +<p> Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old,<br> + I will maintaine thee and thy sonne:<br> + And the men shall have five hundred markes<br> + For the good service they have done.<br> + Then in came the queene with ladyes fair<br> + To see Sir Andrewe Barton knight:<br> + They weend that hee were brought on shore,<br> + And thought to have seen a gallant sight.</p> + +<p> But when they see his deadlye face,<br> + And eyes soe hollow in his head,<br> + I wold give, quoth the king, a thousand markes,<br> + This man were alive as hee is dead:<br> + Yett for the manfull part hee playd,<br> + Which fought soe well with heart and hand,<br> + His men shall have twelvepence a day,<br> + Till they come to my brother kings high land.</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap14">MAY COLLIN</a></h2> +<img alt="125.jpg (13K)" src="images/125.jpg" height="129" width="240"> +<br><br> +<a name="collin"></a> +<img alt="collin.jpg (139K)" src="images/collin.jpg" height="1017" width="750"> + +<p> May Collin ...<br> + ... was her father's heir,<br> + And she fell in love with a false priest,<br> + And she rued it ever mair.</p> + +<p> He followd her butt, he followd her benn,<br> + He followd her through the hall,<br> + Till she had neither tongue nor teeth<br> + Nor lips to say him naw.</p> + +<p> "We'll take the steed out where he is,<br> + The gold where eer it be,<br> + And we'll away to some unco land,<br> + And married we shall be."</p> + +<p> They had not riden a mile, a mile,<br> + A mile but barely three,<br> + Till they came to a rank river,<br> + Was raging like the sea.</p> + +<p> "Light off, light off now, May Collin,<br> + It's here that you must die;<br> + Here I have drownd seven king's daughters,<br> + The eight now you must be.</p> + +<p> "Cast off, cast off now, May Collin,<br> + Your gown that's of the green;<br> + For it's oer good and oer costly<br> + To rot in the sea-stream.</p> + +<p> "Cast off, cast off now, May Collin,<br> + Your coat that's of the black;<br> + For it's oer good and oer costly<br> + To rot in the sea-wreck.</p> + +<p> "Cast off, cast off now, May Collin,<br> + Your stays that are well laced;<br> + For thei'r oer good and costly<br> + In the sea's ground to waste.</p> + +<p> "Cast [off, cast off now, May Collin,]<br> + Your sark that's of the holland;<br> + For [it's oer good and oer costly]<br> + To rot in the sea-bottom."</p> + +<p> "Turn you about now, falsh Mess John,<br> + To the green leaf of the tree;<br> + It does not fit a mansworn man<br> + A naked woman to see."</p> + +<p> He turnd him quickly round about,<br> + To the green leaf of the tree;<br> + She took him hastly in her arms<br> + And flung him in the sea.</p> + +<p> "Now lye you there, you falsh Mess John,<br> + My mallasin go with thee!<br> + You thought to drown me naked and bare,<br> + But take your cloaths with thee,<br> + And if there be seven king's daughters there<br> + Bear you them company"</p> + +<p> She lap on her milk steed<br> + And fast she bent the way,<br> + And she was at her father's yate<br> + Three long hours or day.</p> + +<p> Up and speaks the wylie parrot,<br> + So wylily and slee:<br> + "Where is the man now, May Collin,<br> + That gaed away wie thee?"</p> + +<p> "Hold your tongue, my wylie parrot,<br> + And tell no tales of me,<br> + And where I gave a pickle befor<br> + It's now I'll give you three."</p> + +<img alt="128.jpg (5K)" src="images/128.jpg" height="124" width="127"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap15">THE BLIND BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL GREEN</a></h2> +<img alt="129.jpg (11K)" src="images/129.jpg" height="152" width="237"> +<br><br> + +<h3>PART THE FIRST</h3> + +<p> Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight,<br> + He had a faire daughter of bewty most bright;<br> + And many a gallant brave suiter had shee,<br> + For none was soe comelye as pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> And though shee was of favour most faire,<br> + Yett seeing shee was but a poor beggars heyre,<br> + Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee,<br> + Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did say,<br> + Good father, and mother, let me goe away<br> + To seeke out my fortune, whatever itt bee.<br> + This suite then they granted to prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright,<br> + All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night<br> + From father and mother alone parted shee;<br> + Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow;<br> + Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe:<br> + With teares shee lamented her hard destinie,<br> + So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> Shee kept on her journey untill it was day,<br> + And went unto Rumford along the hye way;<br> + Where at the Queenes armes entertained was shee;<br> + Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> Shee had not beene there a month to an end,<br> + But master and mistress and all was her friend:<br> + And every brave gallant, that once did her see,<br> + Was straight-way enamoured of pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,<br> + And in their songs daylye her love was extold;<br> + Her beawtye was blazed in every degree;<br> + Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> The young men of Rumford in her had their joy;<br> + Shee shewed herself curteous, and modestlye coye;<br> + And at her commandment still wold they bee;<br> + Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> Foure suitors att once unto her did goe;<br> + They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe;<br> + I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee.<br> + Yett ever they honored prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> The first of them was a gallant young knight,<br> + And he came unto her disguisde in the night;<br> + The second a gentleman of good degree,<br> + Who wooed and sued for prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small,<br> + He was the third suiter, and proper withall:<br> + Her masters own sonne the fourth man must bee,<br> + Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the knight,<br> + Ile make thee a ladye with joy and delight;<br> + My hart's so inthralled by thy bewtle,<br> + That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> The gentleman sayd, Come, marry with mee,<br> + As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal bee:<br> + My life is distressed: O heare me, quoth hee;<br> + And grant me thy love, my prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> Let me bee thy husband, the merchant cold say,<br> + Thou shalt live in London both gallant and gay;<br> + My shippes shall bring home rych jewells for thee,<br> + And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> Then Bessy shee sighed, and thus she did say,<br> + My father and mother I meane to obey;<br> + First gett their good will, and be faithfull to mee,<br> + And you shall enjoye your prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> To every one this answer shee made,<br> + Wherfore unto her they joyfullye sayd,<br> + This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree; But where dwells thy +father,<br> +my prettye Besse?</p> + +<p> My father, shee said, is soone to be seene:<br> + The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene,<br> + That daylye sits begging for charitie,<br> + He is the good father of pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> His markes and his tokens are knowen very well;<br> + He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell:<br> + A seely olde man, God knoweth, is hee,<br> + Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not for mee:<br> + Nor, quoth the innholder, my wiffe thou shalt bee:<br> + I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggars degree,<br> + And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee!</p> + +<p> Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or worse,<br> + I waighe not true love by the waight of my pursse,<br> + And bewtye is bewtye in every degree;<br> + Then welcome unto me, my prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe.<br> + Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be soe;<br> + A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shal bee,<br> + Then take thy adew of pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> But soone after this, by breake of the day,<br> + The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy away.<br> + The younge men of Rumford, as thicke might bee,<br> + Rode after to feitch againe pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> As swifte as the winde to ryde they were scene,<br> + Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene;<br> + And as the knight lighted most courteouslìe,<br> + They all fought against him for pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> But rescew came speedilye over the plaine,<br> + Or else the young knight for his love had been slaine.<br> + This fray being ended, then straitway he see<br> + His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee poore,<br> + Yett rayle not against my child at my own doore:<br> + Though shee be not decked in velvett and pearle,<br> + Yett will I dropp angells with you for my girle.</p> + +<p> And then, if my gold may better her birthe,<br> + And equall the gold that you lay on the earth,<br> + Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see<br> + The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee.</p> + +<p> But first you shall promise, and have it well knowne,<br> + The gold that you drop shall all be your owne.<br> + With that they replyed, Contented bee wee.<br> + Then here's, quoth the beggar, for pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> With that an angell he cast on the ground,<br> + And dropped in angels full three thousand pound;<br> + And oftentime itt was proved most plaine,<br> + For the gentlemens one the beggar droppt twayne:</p> + +<p> Soe that the place, wherin they did sitt,<br> + With gold it was covered every whitt.<br> + The gentlemen then having dropt all their store,<br> + Sayd, Now, beggar, hold, for wee have noe more.</p> + +<p> Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright.<br> + Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this knight;<br> + And heere, added hee, I will now throwe you downe<br> + A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne.</p> + +<p> The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene,<br> + Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene:<br> + And all those, that were her suitors before,<br> + Their fleshe for very anger they tore.</p> + +<p> Thus was faire Besse matched to the knight,<br> + And then made a ladye in others despite:<br> + A fairer ladye there never was seene,<br> + Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene.</p> + +<p> But of their sumptuous marriage and feast,<br> + What brave lords and knights thither were prest,<br> + The SECOND FITT shall set forth to your sight<br> + With marveilous pleasure, and wished delight.</p> + +<br><br> +<h3>PART THE SECOND</h3> + +<p> Off a blind beggars daughter most bright,<br> + That late was betrothed unto a younge knight;<br> + All the discourse therof you did see;<br> + But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> Within a gorgeous palace most brave,<br> + Adorned with all the cost they cold have,<br> + This wedding was kept most sumptuouslìe,<br> + And all for the credit of pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> All kind of dainties, and delicates sweete<br> + Were bought for the banquet, as it was most meete;<br> + Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,<br> + Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> This marriage through England was spread by report,<br> + Soe that a great number therto did resort<br> + Of nobles and gentles in every degree;<br> + And all for the fame of prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> To church then went this gallant younge knight;<br> + His bride followed after, an angell most bright,<br> + With troopes of ladyes, the like nere was scene<br> + As went with sweete Bessy of Bednall-greene.</p> + +<p> This marryage being solempnized then,<br> + With musicke performed by the skilfullest men,<br> + The nobles and gentles sate downe at that tyde,<br> + Each one admiring the beautiful bryde.</p> + +<p> Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done,<br> + To talke, and to reason a number begunn:<br> + They talkt of the blind beggars daughter most bright,<br> + And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.</p> + +<p> Then spake the nobles, "Much marveil have wee,<br> + This jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see."<br> + My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so base,<br> + He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.</p> + +<p> "The prayse of a woman in question to bringe<br> + Before her own face, were a flattering thinge;<br> + But wee thinke thy father's baseness," quoth they,<br> + "Might by thy bewtye be cleane put awaye."</p> + +<p> They had noe sooner these pleasant words spoke,<br> + But in comes the beggar cladd in a silke cloke;<br> + A faire velvet capp, and a fether had hee,<br> + And now a musicyan forsooth he wold bee.</p> + +<p> He had a daintye lute under his arme,<br> + He touched the strings, which made such a charme,<br> + Saies, Please you to heare any musicke of mee,<br> + Ile sing you a song of pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> With that his lute he twanged straightway,<br> + And thereon begann most sweetlye to play;<br> + And after that lessons were playd two or three,<br> + He strayn'd out this song most delicatelìe.</p> + +<p> "A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a greene,<br> + Who for her fairenesse might well be a queene:<br> + A blithe bonny lasse, and a daintye was shee,<br> + And many one called her pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> "Her father hee had noe goods, nor noe land,<br> + But begged for a penny all day with his hand;<br> + And yett to her marriage he gave thousands three,<br> + And still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> "And if any one here her birth doe disdaine,<br> + Her father is ready, with might and with maine,<br> + To proove shee is come of noble degree:<br> + Therfore never flout att prettye Bessee."</p> + +<p> With that the lords and the companye round<br> + With harty laughter were readye to swound;<br> + Att last said the lords, Full well wee may see,<br> + The bride and the beggar's behoulden to thee.</p> + +<p> On this the bride all blushing did rise,<br> + The pearlie dropps standing within her faire eyes,<br> + O pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth shee,<br> + That throughe blind affection thus doteth on mee.</p> + +<p> If this be thy father, the nobles did say,<br> + Well may he be proud of this happy day;<br> + Yett by his countenance well may wee see,<br> + His birth and his fortune did never agree:</p> + +<p> And therefore, blind man, we pray thee bewray,<br> + (and looke that the truth thou to us doe say)<br> + Thy birth and thy parentage, whatt itt may bee;<br> + For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> "Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one,<br> + One song more to sing, and then I have done;<br> + And if that itt may not winn good report,<br> + Then doe not give me a GROAT for my sport.</p> + +<p> "Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shal bee;<br> + Once chiefe of all the great barons was hee,<br> + Yet fortune so cruelle this lorde did abase,<br> + Now loste and forgotten are hee and his race.</p> + +<p> "When the barons in armes did King Henrye oppose,<br> + Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose;<br> + A leader of courage undaunted was hee,<br> + And oft-times he made their enemyes flee.</p> + +<p> "At length in the battle on Eveshame plaine<br> + The barons were routed, and Montford was slaine;<br> + Moste fatall that battel did prove unto thee,<br> + Thoughe thou wast not borne then, my prettye Bessee!</p> + +<p> "Along with the nobles, that fell at that tyde,<br> + His eldest son Henrye, who fought by his side,<br> + Was fellde by a blowe, he receivde in the fight!<br> + A blowe that deprivde him for ever of sight.</p> + +<p> "Among the dead bodyes all lifeless he laye,<br> + Till evening drewe on of the following daye,<br> + When by a yong ladye discovered was hee;<br> + And this was thy mother, my prettye Bessee!</p> + +<p> "A barons faire daughter stept forth in the nighte<br> + To search for her father, who fell in the fight,<br> + And seeing young Montfort, where gasping he laye,<br> + Was moved with pitye, and brought him awaye.</p> + +<p> "In secrette she nurst him, and swaged his paine,<br> + While he throughe the realme was beleeved to be slaine<br> + At lengthe his faire bride she consented to bee,<br> + And made him glad father of prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> "And nowe lest oure foes our lives sholde betraye,<br> + We clothed ourselves in beggars arraye;<br> + Her jewelles shee solde, and hither came wee:<br> + All our comfort and care was our prettye Bessee.</p> + +<p> "And here have we lived in fortunes despite,<br> + Thoughe poore, yet contented with humble delighte:<br> + Full forty winters thus have I beene<br> + A silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene.</p> + +<p> "And here, noble lordes, is ended the song<br> + Of one, that once to your own ranke did belong:<br> + And thus have you learned a secrette from mee,<br> + That ne'er had been knowne, but for prettye Bessee."</p> + +<p> Now when the faire companye everye one,<br> + Had heard the strange tale in the song he had showne,<br> + They all were amazed, as well they might bee,<br> + Both at the blinde beggar, and pretty Bessee.</p> + +<p> With that the faire bride they all did embrace,<br> + Saying, Sure thou art come of an honourable race,<br> + Thy father likewise is of noble degree,<br> + And thou art well worthy a lady to bee.</p> + +<p> Thus was the feast ended with joye and delighte,<br> + A bridegroome most happy then was the younge knighte,<br> + In joy and felicitie long lived hee,<br> + All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee.</p> + + + +<img alt="141.jpg (3K)" src="images/141.jpg" height="131" width="112"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap16">THOMAS THE RHYMER</a></h2> +<img alt="142.jpg (20K)" src="images/142.jpg" height="191" width="240"> +<br><br> +<a name="rhymer"></a> +<img alt="rhymer.jpg (93K)" src="images/rhymer.jpg" height="908" width="664"> + +<p> Thomas lay on the Huntlie bank,<br> + A spying ferlies wi his eee,<br> + And he did spy a lady gay,<br> + Come riding down by the lang lee.</p> + +<p> Her steed was o the dapple grey,<br> + And at its mane there hung bells nine;<br> + He thought he heard that lady say,<br> + "They gowden bells sall a' be thine."</p> + +<p> Her mantle was o velvet green,<br> + And a' set round wi jewels fine;<br> + Her hawk and hounds were at her side,<br> + And her bugle-horn wi gowd did shine.</p> + +<p> Thomas took aff baith cloak and cap,<br> + For to salute this gay lady:<br> + "O save ye, save ye, fair Queen o Heavn,<br> + And ay weel met ye save and see!"</p> + +<p> "I'm no the Queen o Heavn, Thomas;<br> + I never carried my head sae hee;<br> + For I am but a lady gay,<br> + Come out to hunt in my follee.</p> + +<p> "Now gin ye kiss my mouth, Thomas,<br> + Ye mauna miss my fair bodee;<br> + Then ye may een gang hame and tell<br> + That ye've lain wi a gay ladee."</p> + +<p> "O gin I loe a lady fair,<br> + Nae ill tales o her wad I tell,<br> + And it's wi thee I fain wad gae,<br> + Tho it were een to heavn or hell."</p> + +<p> "Then harp and carp, Thomas," she said,<br> + "Then harp and carp alang wi me;<br> + But it will be seven years and a day<br> + Till ye win back to yere ain countrie."</p> + +<p> The lady rade, True Thomas ran,<br> + Until they cam to a water wan;<br> + O it was night, and nae delight,<br> + And Thomas wade aboon the knee.</p> + +<p> It was dark night, and nae starn-light,<br> + And on they waded lang days three,<br> + And they heard the roaring o a flood,<br> + And Thomas a waefou man was he.</p> + +<p> Then they rade on, and farther on,<br> + Untill they came to a garden green;<br> + To pu an apple he put up his hand,<br> + For the lack o food he was like to tyne.</p> + +<p> "O haud yere hand, Thomas," she cried,<br> + "And let that green flourishing be;<br> + For it's the very fruit o hell,<br> + Beguiles baith man and woman o yere countrie.</p> + +<p> "But look afore ye, True Thomas,<br> + And I shall show ye ferlies three;<br> + Yon is the gate leads to our land,<br> + Where thou and I sae soon shall be.</p> + +<p> "And dinna ye see yon road, Thomas,<br> + That lies out-owr yon lilly lee?<br> + Weel is the man yon gate may gang,<br> + For it leads him straight to the heavens hie.</p> + +<p> "But do you see yon road, Thomas,<br> + That lies out-owr yon frosty fell?<br> + Ill is the man yon gate may gang,<br> + For it leads him straight to the pit o hell.</p> + +<p> "Now when ye come to our court, Thomas,<br> + See that a weel-learned man ye be;<br> + For they will ask ye, one and all,<br> + But ye maun answer nane but me.</p> + +<p> "And when nae answer they obtain,<br> + Then will they come and question me,<br> + And I will answer them again<br> + That I gat yere aith at the Eildon tree.</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> "Ilka seven years, Thomas,<br> + We pay our teindings unto hell,<br> + And ye're sae leesome and sae strang<br> + That I fear, Thomas, it will be yeresell."</p> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap17">YOUNG BEICHAN</a></h2> +<img alt="146.jpg (16K)" src="images/146.jpg" height="177" width="239"> +<br><br> +<a name="beichan"></a> +<img alt="beichan.jpg (140K)" src="images/beichan.jpg" height="1021" width="750"> + +<p> In London city was Bicham born,<br> + He longd strange countries for to see,<br> + But he was taen by a savage Moor,<br> + Who handld him right cruely.</p> + +<p> For thro his shoulder he put a bore,<br> + An thro the bore has pitten a tree,<br> + An he's gard him draw the carts o wine,<br> + Where horse and oxen had wont to be.</p> + +<p> He's casten [him] in a dungeon deep,<br> + Where he coud neither hear nor see;<br> + He's shut him up in a prison strong,<br> + An he's handld him right cruely.</p> + +<p> O this Moor he had but ae daughter,<br> + I wot her name was Shusy Pye;<br> + She's doen her to the prison-house,<br> + And she's calld Young Bicham one word</p> + +<p> "O hae ye ony lands or rents,<br> + Or citys in your ain country,<br> + Coud free you out of prison strong,<br> + An coud mantain a lady free?"</p> + +<p> "O London city is my own,<br> + An other citys twa or three,<br> + Coud loose me out o prison strong,<br> + An coud mantain a lady free."</p> + +<p> O she has bribed her father's men<br> + Wi meikle goud and white money,<br> + She's gotten the key o the prison doors,<br> + An she has set Young Bicham free.</p> + +<p> She's g'in him a loaf o good white bread,<br> + But an a flask o Spanish wine,<br> + An she bad him mind on the ladie's love<br> + That sae kindly freed him out o pine.</p> + +<p> "Go set your foot on good ship-board,<br> + An haste you back to your ain country,<br> + An before that seven years has an end,<br> + Come back again, love, and marry me."</p> + +<p> It was long or seven years had an end<br> + She longd fu sair her love to see;<br> + She's set her foot on good ship-board,<br> + And turnd her back on her ain country.</p> + +<p> She's saild up, so has she doun,<br> + Till she came to the other side;<br> + She's landed at Young Bicham's gates,<br> + An I hop this day she sal be his bride.</p> + +<p> "Is this Young Bicham's gates?" says she,<br> + "Or is that noble prince within?"<br> + "He's up the stairs wi his bonny bride,<br> + An monny a lord and lady wi him."</p> + +<p> "O has he taen a bonny bride,<br> + An has he clean forgotten me!"<br> + An sighing said that gay lady,<br> + I wish I were in my ain country!</p> + +<p> But she's pitten her han in her pocket,<br> + An gin the porter guineas three;<br> + Says, Take ye that, ye proud porter,<br> + An bid the bridegroom speak to me.</p> + +<p> O whan the porter came up the stair,<br> + He's fa'n low down upon his knee:<br> + "Won up, won up, ye proud porter,<br> + An what makes a' this courtesy?"</p> + +<p> "O I've been porter at your gates<br> + This mair nor seven years an three,<br> + But there is a lady at them now<br> + The like of whom I never did see.</p> + +<p> "For on every finger she has a ring,<br> + An on the mid-finger she has three,<br> + An there's a meikle goud aboon her brow<br> + As woud buy an earldome o lan to me."</p> + +<p> Then up it started Young Bicham,<br> + An sware so loud by Our Lady,<br> + "It can be nane but Shusy Pye,<br> + That has come oer the sea to me."</p> + +<p> O quickly ran he down the stair,<br> + O fifteen steps he has made but three;<br> + He's tane his bonny love in his arms,<br> + An a wot he kissd her tenderly.</p> + +<p> "O hae you tane a bonny bride?<br> + An hae you quite forsaken me?<br> + An hae ye quite forgotten her<br> + That gae you life an liberty?"</p> + + <p>She's lookit oer her left shoulder<br> + To hide the tears stood in her ee;<br> + "Now fare thee well, Young Bicham," she says,<br> + "I'll strive to think nae mair on thee."</p> + +<p> "Take back your daughter, madam," he says,<br> + "An a double dowry I'll gi her wi;<br> + For I maun marry my first true love,<br> + That's done and suffered so much for me."</p> + +<p> He's take his bonny love by the ban,<br> + And led her to yon fountain stane;<br> + He's changd her name frae Shusy Pye,<br> + An he's cald her his bonny love, Lady Jane.</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap18">BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY</a></h2> +<img alt="151.jpg (18K)" src="images/151.jpg" height="181" width="237"> +<br><br> + +<p> The fifteenth day of July,<br> + With glistering spear and shield,<br> + A famous fight in Flanders<br> + Was foughten in the field:<br> + The most couragious officers<br> + Were English captains three;<br> + But the bravest man in battel<br> + Was brave Lord Willoughbèy.</p> + +<p> The next was Captain Norris,<br> + A valiant man was hee:<br> + The other Captain Turner,<br> + From field would never flee.<br> + With fifteen hundred fighting men,<br> + Alas! there were no more,<br> + They fought with fourteen thousand then,<br> + Upon the bloody shore.</p> + +<p> Stand to it, noble pikemen,<br> + And look you round about:<br> + And shoot you right, you bow-men,<br> + And we will keep them out:<br> + You musquet and callìver men,<br> + Do you prove true to me,<br> + I'le be the formost man in fight,<br> + Says brave Lord Willoughbèy.</p> + +<p> And then the bloody enemy<br> + They fiercely did assail,<br> + And fought it out most furiously,<br> + Not doubting to prevail:<br> + The wounded men on both sides fell<br> + Most pitious for to see,<br> + Yet nothing could the courage quell<br> + Of brave Lord Willoughbèy.</p> + +<p> For seven hours to all mens view<br> + This fight endured sore,<br> + Until our men so feeble grew<br> + That they could fight no more;<br> + And then upon dead horses<br> + Full savourly they eat,<br> + And drank the puddle water,<br> + They could no better get.</p> + +<p> When they had fed so freely,<br> + They kneeled on the ground,<br> + And praised God devoutly<br> + For the favour they had found;<br> + And beating up their colours,<br> + The fight they did renew,<br> + And turning tow'rds the Spaniard,<br> + A thousand more they slew.</p> + +<p> The sharp steel-pointed arrows,<br> + And bullets thick did fly,<br> + Then did our valiant soldiers<br> + Charge on most furiously;<br> + Which made the Spaniards waver,<br> + They thought it best to flee,<br> + They fear'd the stout behaviour<br> + Of brave Lord Willoughbey.</p> + +<p> Then quoth the Spanish general,<br> + Come let us march away,<br> + I fear we shall be spoiled all<br> + If here we longer stay;<br> + For yonder comes Lord Willoughbey<br> + With courage fierce and fell,<br> + He will not give one inch of way<br> + For all the devils in hell.</p> + +<p> And then the fearful enemy<br> + Was quickly put to flight,<br> + Our men persued couragiously,<br> + And caught their forces quite;<br> + But at last they gave a shout,<br> + Which ecchoed through the sky,<br> + God, and St. George for England!<br> + The conquerors did cry.</p> + +<p> This news was brought to England<br> + With all the speed might be,<br> + And soon our gracious queen was told<br> + Of this same victory.<br> + O this is brave Lord Willoughbey,<br> + My love that ever won,<br> + Of all the lords of honour<br> + 'Tis he great deeds hath done.</p> + +<p> To the souldiers that were maimed,<br> + And wounded in the fray,<br> + The queen allowed a pension<br> + Of fifteen pence a day;<br> + And from all costs and charges<br> + She quit and set them free:<br> + And this she did all for the sake<br> + Of brave Lord Willoughbey.</p> + +<p> Then courage, noble Englishmen,<br> + And never be dismaid;<br> + If that we be but one to ten,<br> + We will not be afraid<br> + To fight with foraign enemies,<br> + And set our nation free.<br> + And thus I end the bloody bout<br> + Of brave Lord Willoughbey.</p> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap19">THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE</a></h2> +<img alt="155.jpg (12K)" src="images/155.jpg" height="168" width="239"> +<br><br> + +<p> Will you hear a Spanish lady,<br> + How shed wooed an English man?<br> + Garments gay and rich as may be<br> + Decked with jewels she had on.<br> + Of a comely countenance and grace was she,<br> + And by birth and parentage of high degree.</p> + +<p> As his prisoner there he kept her,<br> + In his hands her life did lye!<br> + Cupid's bands did tye them faster<br> + By the liking of an eye.<br> + In his courteous company was all her joy,<br> + To favour him in any thing she was not coy.</p> + +<p> But at last there came commandment<br> + For to set the ladies free,<br> + With their jewels still adorned,<br> + None to do them injury.<br> + Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me;<br> + O let me still sustain this kind captivity!</p> + +<p> Gallant captain, shew some pity<br> + To a ladye in distresse;<br> + Leave me not within this city,<br> + For to dye in heavinesse:<br> + Thou hast this present day my body free,<br> + But my heart in prison still remains with thee.</p> + +<p> "How should'st thou, fair lady, love me,<br> + Whom thou knowest thy country's foe?<br> + Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee:<br> + Serpents lie where flowers grow."<br> + All the harme I wishe to thee, most courteous knight,<br> + God grant the same upon my head may fully light.<br> + Blessed be the time and season,<br> + That you came on Spanish ground;<br> + If our foes you may be termed,<br> + Gentle foes we have you found:<br> + With our city, you have won our hearts eche one,<br> + Then to your country bear away, that is your owne.</p> + +<p> "Rest you still, most gallant lady;<br> + Rest you still, and weep no more;<br> + Of fair lovers there is plenty,<br> + Spain doth yield a wonderous store."<br> + Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find,<br> + But Englishmen through all the world are counted kind.</p> + +<p> Leave me not unto a Spaniard,<br> + You alone enjoy my heart:<br> + I am lovely, young, and tender,<br> + Love is likewise my desert:<br> + Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest;<br> + The wife of every Englishman is counted blest.<br> + "It wold be a shame, fair lady,<br> + For to bear a woman hence;<br> + English soldiers never carry<br> + Any such without offence."<br> + I'll quickly change myself, if it be so,<br> + And like a page He follow thee, where'er thou go.</p> + +<p> "I have neither gold nor silver<br> + To maintain thee in this case,<br> + And to travel is great charges,<br> + As you know in every place."<br> + My chains and jewels every one shal be thy own,<br> + And eke five hundred pounds in gold that lies unknown.</p> + +<p> "On the seas are many dangers,<br> + Many storms do there arise,<br> + Which wil be to ladies dreadful,<br> + And force tears from watery eyes."<br> + Well in troth I shall endure extremity,<br> + For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.</p> + +<p> "Courteous ladye, leave this fancy,<br> + Here comes all that breeds the strife;<br> + I in England have already<br> + A sweet woman to my wife:<br> + I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain,<br> + Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."</p> + +<p> O how happy is that woman<br> + That enjoys so true a friend!<br> + Many happy days God send her;<br> + Of my suit I make an end:<br> + On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,<br> + Which did from love and true affection first commence.</p> + +<p> Commend me to thy lovely lady,<br> + Bear to her this chain of gold;<br> + And these bracelets for a token;<br> + Grieving that I was so bold:<br> + All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee,<br> + For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.</p> + +<p> I will spend my days in prayer,<br> + Love and all her laws defye;<br> + In a nunnery will I shroud mee<br> + Far from any companye:<br> + But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this,<br> + To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss.</p> + +<p> Thus farewell, most gallant captain!<br> + Farewell too my heart's content!<br> + Count not Spanish ladies wanton,<br> + Though to thee my love was bent:<br> + Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee!<br> + "The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladie."</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<p><a name="chap20">THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY</a></p> +<img alt="160.jpg (9K)" src="images/160.jpg" height="121" width="235"> +<br><br> + +<p> It was a friar of orders gray<br> + Walkt forth to tell his beades;<br> + And he met with a lady faire,<br> + Clad in a pilgrime's weedes.</p> + +<p> Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,<br> + I pray thee tell to me,<br> + If ever at yon holy shrine<br> + My true love thou didst see.</p> + +<p> And how should I know your true love<br> + From many another one?<br> + O by his cockle hat, and staff,<br> + And by his sandal shoone.</p> + +<p> But chiefly by his face and mien,<br> + That were so fair to view;<br> + His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,<br> + And eyne of lovely blue.</p> + +<p> O lady, he is dead and gone!<br> + Lady, he's dead and gone!<br> + And at his head a green grass turfe,<br> + And at his heels a stone.</p> + +<p> Within these holy cloysters long<br> + He languisht, and he dyed,<br> + Lamenting of a ladyes love,<br> + And 'playning of her pride.</p> + +<p> Here bore him barefac'd on his bier<br> + Six proper youths and tall,<br> + And many a tear bedew'd his grave<br> + Within yon kirk-yard wall.</p> + +<p> And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!<br> + And art thou dead and gone!<br> + And didst thou die for love of me!<br> + Break, cruel heart of stone!</p> + +<p> O weep not, lady, weep not soe;<br> + Some ghostly comfort seek:<br> + Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,<br> + Ne teares bedew thy cheek.</p> + +<p> O do not, do not, holy friar,<br> + My sorrow now reprove;<br> + For I have lost the sweetest youth,<br> + That e'er wan ladyes love.</p> + +<p> And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse,<br> + I'll evermore weep and sigh;<br> + For thee I only wisht to live,<br> + For thee I wish to dye.</p> + +<p> Weep no more, lady, weep no more,<br> + Thy sorrowe is in vaine:<br> + For violets pluckt the sweetest showers<br> + Will ne'er make grow againe.</p> + +<p> Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,<br> + Why then should sorrow last?<br> + Since grief but aggravates thy losse,<br> + Grieve not for what is past.</p> + +<p> O say not soe, thou holy friar;<br> + I pray thee, say not soe:<br> + For since my true-love dyed for mee,<br> + 'Tis meet my tears should flow.</p> + +<p> And will he ne'er come again?<br> + Will he ne'er come again?<br> + Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,<br> + For ever to remain.</p> + +<p> His cheek was redder than the rose;<br> + The comliest youth was he!<br> + But he is dead and laid in his grave:<br> + Alas, and woe is me!</p> + +<p> Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,<br> + Men were deceivers ever:<br> + One foot on sea and one on land,<br> + To one thing constant never.</p> + +<p> Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,<br> + And left thee sad and heavy;<br> + For young men ever were fickle found,<br> + Since summer trees were leafy.</p> + +<p> Now say not so, thou holy friar,<br> + I pray thee say not soe;<br> + My love he had the truest heart:<br> + O he was ever true!</p> + +<p> And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,<br> + And didst thou dye for mee?<br> + Then farewell home; for ever-more<br> + A pilgrim I will bee.</p> + +<p> But first upon my true-loves grave<br> + My weary limbs I'll lay,<br> + And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf,<br> + That wraps his breathless clay.</p> + +<p> Yet stay, fair lady; rest awhile<br> + Beneath this cloyster wall:<br> + See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind,<br> + And drizzly rain doth fall.</p> + +<p> O stay me not, thou holy friar;<br> + O stay me not, I pray;<br> + No drizzly rain that falls on me,<br> + Can wash my fault away.</p> + +<p> Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,<br> + And dry those pearly tears;<br> + For see beneath this gown of gray<br> + Thy own true-love appears.</p> + +<p> Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,<br> + These holy weeds I sought;<br> + And here amid these lonely walls<br> + To end my days I thought.</p> + +<p> But haply for my year of grace<br> + Is not yet past away,<br> + Might I still hope to win thy love,<br> + No longer would I stay.</p> + +<p> Now farewell grief, and welcome joy<br> + Once more unto my heart;<br> + For since I have found thee, lovely youth,<br> + We never more will part.</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap21">CLERK COLVILL</a></h2> +<img alt="165.jpg (12K)" src="images/165.jpg" height="139" width="232"> +<br><br> +<a name="colvill"></a> +<img alt="colvill.jpg (159K)" src="images/colvill.jpg" height="1017" width="750"> + + +<p> Clerk Colvill and his lusty dame<br> + Were walking in the garden green;<br> + The belt around her stately waist<br> + Cost Clerk Colvill of pounds fifteen.</p> + +<p> "O promise me now, Clerk Colvill,<br> + Or it will cost ye muckle strife,<br> + Ride never by the wells of Slane,<br> + If ye wad live and brook your life."</p> + +<p> "Now speak nae mair, my lusty dame,<br> + Now speak nae mair of that to me;<br> + Did I neer see a fair woman,<br> + But I wad sin with her body?"</p> + +<p> He's taen leave o his gay lady,<br> + Nought minding what his lady said,<br> + And he's rode by the wells of Slane,<br> + Where washing was a bonny maid.</p> + +<p> "Wash on, wash on, my bonny maid,<br> + That wash sae clean your sark of silk;"<br> + "And weel fa you, fair gentleman,<br> + Your body whiter than the milk."</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> Then loud, loud cry'd the Clerk Colvill,<br> + "O my head it pains me sair;"<br> + "Then take, then take," the maiden said,<br> + "And frae my sark you'll cut a gare."</p> + +<p> Then she's gied him a little bane-knife,<br> + And frae her sark he cut a share;<br> + She's ty'd it round his whey-white face,<br> + But ay his head it aked mair.</p> + +<p> Then louder cry'd the Clerk Colville,<br> + "O sairer, sairer akes my head;"<br> + "And sairer, sairer ever will,"<br> + The maiden crys, "till you be dead."</p> + +<p> Out then he drew his shining blade,<br> + Thinking to stick her where she stood,<br> + But she was vanished to a fish,<br> + And swam far off, a fair mermaid.</p> + +<p> "O mother, mother, braid my hair;<br> + My lusty lady, make my bed;<br> + O brother, take my sword and spear,<br> + For I have seen the false mermaid."</p> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap22">SIR ALDINGAR</a></h2> +<img alt="167.jpg (18K)" src="images/167.jpg" height="159" width="237"> +<br><br> + +<p> Our king he kept a false stewàrde,<br> + Sir Aldingar they him call;<br> + A falser steward than he was one,<br> + Servde not in bower nor hall.</p> + +<p> He wolde have layne by our comelye queene,<br> + Her deere worshippe to betraye:<br> + Our queene she was a good womàn,<br> + And evermore said him naye.</p> + +<p> Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind,<br> + With her hee was never content,<br> + Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse,<br> + In a fyer to have her brent.</p> + +<p> There came a lazar to the kings gate,<br> + A lazar both blinde and lame:<br> + He tooke the lazar upon his backe,<br> + Him on the queenes bed has layne.</p> + +<p> "Lye still, lazar, whereas thou lyest,<br> + Looke thou goe not hence away;<br> + He make thee a whole man and a sound<br> + In two howers of the day."</p> + +<p> Then went him forth Sir Aldingar,<br> + And hyed him to our king:<br> + "If I might have grace, as I have space,<br> + Sad tydings I could bring."</p> + +<p> Say on, say on, Sir Aldingar,<br> + Saye on the soothe to mee.<br> + "Our queene hath chosen a new new love,<br> + And shee will have none of thee.</p> + +<p> "If shee had chosen a right good knight,<br> + The lesse had beene her shame;<br> + But she hath chose her a lazar man,<br> + A lazar both blinde and lame."</p> + +<p> If this be true, thou Aldingar,<br> + The tyding thou tellest to me,<br> + Then will I make thee a rich rich knight,<br> + Rich both of golde and fee.</p> + +<p> But if it be false, Sir Aldingar,<br> + As God nowe grant it bee!<br> + Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood,<br> + Shall hang on the gallows tree.</p> + +<p> He brought our king to the queenes chambèr,<br> + And opend to him the dore.<br> + A lodlye love, King Harry says,<br> + For our queene dame Elinore!</p> + +<p> If thou were a man, as thou art none,<br> + Here on my sword thoust dye;<br> + But a payre of new gallowes shall be built,<br> + And there shalt thou hang on hye.</p> + +<p> Forth then hyed our king, I wysse,<br> + And an angry man was hee;<br> + And soone he found Queen Elinore,<br> + That bride so bright of blee.</p> + +<p> Now God you save, our queene, madame,<br> + And Christ you save and see;<br> + Heere you have chosen a newe newe love,<br> + And you will have none of mee.</p> + +<p> If you had chosen a right good knight,<br> + The lesse had been your shame;<br> + But you have chose you a lazar man,<br> + A lazar both blinde and lame.</p> + +<p> Therfore a fyer there shalt be built,<br> + And brent all shalt thou bee.--<br> + Now out alacke! said our comly queene,<br> + Sir Aldingar's false to mee.</p> + +<p> Now out alacke! sayd our comlye queene,<br> + My heart with griefe will brast.<br> + I had thought swevens had never been true;<br> + I have proved them true at last.</p> + +<p> I dreamt in my sweven on Thursday eve,<br> + In my bed whereas I laye.<br> + I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast<br> + Had carryed my crowne awaye;</p> + +<p> My gorgett and my kirtle of golde,<br> + And all my faire head-geere:<br> + And he wold worrye me with his tush<br> + And to his nest y-beare:</p> + +<p> Saving there came a little 'gray' hawke,<br> + A merlin him they call,<br> + Which untill the grounde did strike the grype,<br> + That dead he downe did fall.</p> + +<p> Giffe I were a man, as now I am none,<br> + A battell wold I prove,<br> + To fight with that traitor Aldingar,<br> + Att him I cast my glove.</p> + +<p> But seeing Ime able noe battell to make,<br> + My liege, grant me a knight<br> + To fight with that traitor Sir Aldingar,<br> + To maintaine me in my right.</p> + +<p> "Now forty dayes I will give thee<br> + To seeke thee a knight therein:<br> + If thou find not a knight in forty dayes<br> + Thy bodye it must brenn."</p> + +<p> Then shee sent east, and shee sent west,<br> + By north and south bedeene:<br> + But never a champion colde she find,<br> + Wolde fight with that knight soe keene.</p> + +<p> Now twenty dayes were spent and gone,<br> + Noe helpe there might be had;<br> + Many a teare shed our comelye queene<br> + And aye her hart was sad.</p> + +<p> Then came one of the queenes damsèlles,<br> + And knelt upon her knee,<br> + "Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame,<br> + I trust yet helpe may be:</p> + +<p> And here I will make mine avowe,<br> + And with the same me binde;<br> + That never will I return to thee,<br> + Till I some helpe may finde."</p> + +<p> Then forth she rode on a faire palfràye<br> + Oer hill and dale about:<br> + But never a champion colde she finde,<br> + Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.</p> + +<p> And nowe the daye drewe on a pace,<br> + When our good queene must dye;<br> + All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle,<br> + When she found no helpe was nye.</p> + +<p> All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle,<br> + And the salt teares fell from her eye:<br> + When lo! as she rode by a rivers side,<br> + She met with a tinye boye.</p> + +<p> A tinye boye she mette, God wot,<br> + All clad in mantle of golde;<br> + He seemed noe more in mans likenèsse,<br> + Then a childe of four yeere old.</p> + +<p> Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd,<br> + And what doth cause you moane?<br> + The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke,<br> + But fast she pricked on.</p> + +<p> Yet turne againe, thou faire damsèlle<br> + And greete thy queene from mee:<br> + When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest,<br> + Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.</p> + +<p> Bid her remember what she dreamt<br> + In her bedd, wheras shee laye;<br> + How when the grype and grimly beast<br> + Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,</p> + +<p> Even then there came the little gray hawke,<br> + And saved her from his clawes:<br> + Then bidd the queene be merry at hart,<br> + For heaven will fende her cause.</p> + +<p> Back then rode that faire damsèlle,<br> + And her hart it lept for glee:<br> + And when she told her gracious dame<br> + A gladd woman then was shee:</p> + +<p> But when the appointed day was come,<br> + No helpe appeared nye:<br> + Then woeful, woeful was her hart,<br> + And the teares stood in her eye.</p> + +<p> And nowe a fyer was built of wood;<br> + And a stake was made of tree;<br> + And now Queene Elinor forth was led,<br> + A sorrowful sight to see.</p> + +<p> Three times the herault he waved his hand,<br> + And three times spake on hye:<br> + Giff any good knight will fende this dame,<br> + Come forth, or shee must dye.</p> + +<p> No knight stood forth, no knight there came,<br> + No helpe appeared nye:<br> + And now the fyer was lighted up,<br> + Queen Elinor she must dye.</p> + +<p> And now the fyer was lighted up,<br> + As hot as hot might bee;<br> + When riding upon a little white steed,<br> + The tinye boy they see.</p> + +<p> "Away with that stake, away with those brands,<br> + And loose our comelye queene:<br> + I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar,<br> + And prove him a traitor keene."</p> + +<p> Forthe then stood Sir Aldingar,<br> + But when he saw the chylde,<br> + He laughed, and scoffed, and turned his backe,<br> + And weened he had been beguylde.</p> + +<p> "Now turne, now turne thee, Aldingar,<br> + And eyther fighte or flee;<br> + I trust that I shall avenge the wronge,<br> + Thoughe I am so small to see."</p> + +<p> The boy pulld forth a well good sworde<br> + So gilt it dazzled the ee;<br> + The first stroke stricken at Aldingar,<br> + Smote off his leggs by the knee.</p> + +<p> "Stand up, stand up, thou false traitòr,<br> + And fight upon thy feete,<br> + For and thou thrive, as thou begin'st,<br> + Of height wee shall be meete."</p> + +<p> A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingàr,<br> + While I am a man alive.<br> + A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingàr,<br> + Me for to houzle and shrive.</p> + +<p> I wolde have laine by our comlie queene,<br> + Bot shee wolde never consent;<br> + Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge<br> + In a fyer to have her brent.</p> + +<p> There came a lazar to the kings gates,<br> + A lazar both blind and lame:<br> + I tooke the lazar upon my backe,<br> + And on her bedd had him layne.</p> + +<p> Then ranne I to our comlye king,<br> + These tidings sore to tell.<br> + But ever alacke! sayes Aldingar,<br> + Falsing never doth well.</p> + +<p> Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame,<br> + The short time I must live.<br> + "Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar,<br> + As freely I forgive."</p> + +<p> Here take thy queene, our king Harryè,<br> + And love her as thy life,<br> + For never had a king in Christentye.<br> + A truer and fairer wife.</p> + +<p> King Henrye ran to claspe his queene,<br> + And loosed her full sone:<br> + Then turned to look for the tinye boye;<br> + --The boye was vanisht and gone.</p> + +<p> But first he had touched the lazar man,<br> + And stroakt him with his hand:<br> + The lazar under the gallowes tree<br> + All whole and sounde did stand.</p> + +<p> The lazar under the gallowes tree<br> + Was comelye, straight and tall;<br> + King Henrye made him his head stewàrde<br> + To wayte withinn his hall.</p> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap23">EDOM O' GORDON</a></h2> +<img alt="177.jpg (116K)" src="images/177.jpg" height="582" width="769"> +<br><br> + + +<p> It fell about the Martinmas,<br> + Quhen the wind blew shril and cauld,<br> + Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,<br> + We maun draw till a hauld.</p> + +<p> And quhat a hauld sall we draw till,<br> + My mirry men and me?<br> + We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes,<br> + To see that fair ladie.</p> + +<p> The lady stude on her castle wa',<br> + Beheld baith dale and down:<br> + There she was ware of a host of men<br> + Cum ryding towards the toun.</p> + +<p> O see ze nat, my mirry men a'?<br> + O see za nat quhat I see?<br> + Methinks I see a host of men:<br> + I marveil quha they be.</p> + +<p> She weend it had been hir luvely lord,<br> + As he cam ryding hame;<br> + It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon,<br> + Quha reckt nae sin nor shame.</p> + +<p> She had nae sooner buskit hirsel,<br> + And putten on hir goun,<br> + But Edom o' Gordon and his men<br> + Were round about the toun.</p> + +<p> They had nae sooner supper sett,<br> + Nae sooner said the grace,<br> + But Edom o' Gordon and his men<br> + Were light about the place.</p> + +<p> The lady ran up to hir towir head,<br> + Sa fast as she could hie,<br> + To see if by hir fair speechès<br> + She could wi' him agree.</p> + +<p> But quhan he see this lady saif,<br> + And hir yates all locked fast,<br> + He fell into a rage of wrath,<br> + And his look was all aghast.</p> + +<p> Cum doun to me, ze lady gay,<br> + Cum doun, cum doun to me:<br> + This night sall ye lig within mine armes,<br> + To-morrow my bride sall be.</p> + +<p> I winnae cum doun ze fals Gordòn,<br> + I winnae cum doun to thee;<br> + I winna forsake my ain dear lord,<br> + That is sae far frae me.</p> + +<p> Give owre zour house, ze lady fair,<br> + Give owre zour house to me,<br> + Or I sall brenn yoursel therein,<br> + Bot and zour babies three.</p> + +<p> I winnae give owre, ze false Gordòn,<br> + To nae sik traitor as zee;<br> + And if ze brenn my ain dear babes,<br> + My lord sall make ze drie.</p> + +<p> But reach my pistoll, Glaud my man,<br> + And charge ze weil my gun:<br> + For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,<br> + My babes we been undone.</p> + +<p> She stude upon hir castle wa',<br> + And let twa bullets flee:<br> + She mist that bluidy butchers hart,<br> + And only raz'd his knee.</p> + +<p> Set fire to the house, quo' fals Gordòn,<br> + All wood wi' dule and ire:<br> + Fals lady, ze sall rue this deid,<br> + As ze bren in the fire.</p> + +<p> Wae worth, wae worth ze, Jock my man,<br> + I paid ze weil zour fee;<br> + Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane,<br> + Lets in the reek to me?</p> + +<p> And ein wae worth ze, Jock my man,<br> + I paid ze weil zour hire;<br> + Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane,<br> + To me lets in the fire?</p> + +<p> Ze paid me weil my hire, lady;<br> + Ze paid me weil my fee:<br> + But now I'm Edom o' Gordons man,<br> + Maun either doe or die.</p> + +<p> O than bespaik hir little son,<br> + Sate on the nurses knee:<br> + Sayes, Mither deare, gi' owre this house,<br> + For the reek it smithers me.</p> + +<p> I wad gie a' my gowd, my childe,<br> + Say wald I a' my fee,<br> + For ane blast o' the western wind,<br> + To blaw the reek frae thee.</p> + +<p> O then bespaik hir dochter dear,<br> + She was baith jimp and sma;<br> + O row me in a pair o' sheits,<br> + And tow me owre the wa.</p> + +<p> They rowd hir in a pair o' sheits,<br> + And towd hir owre the wa:<br> + But on the point of Gordons spear<br> + She gat a deadly fa.</p> + +<p> O bonnie bonnie was hir mouth,<br> + And cherry were her cheiks,<br> + And clear clear was hir zellow hair,<br> + Whereon the reid bluid dreips.</p> + +<p> Then wi' his spear he turnd hir owre,<br> + O gin hir face was wan!<br> + He sayd, Ze are the first that eir<br> + I wisht alive again.</p> + +<p> He turnd hir owre and owre againe,<br> + O gin hir skin was whyte!<br> + I might ha spared that bonnie face<br> + To hae been sum mans delyte.</p> + +<p> Busk and boun, my merry men a',<br> + For ill dooms I doe guess;<br> + I cannae luik in that bonnie face,<br> + As it lyes on the grass.</p> + +<p> Thame, luiks to freits, my master deir,<br> + Then freits wil follow thame:<br> + Let neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon<br> + Was daunted by a dame.</p> + +<p> But quhen the ladye see the fire<br> + Cum flaming owre hir head,<br> + She wept and kist her children twain,<br> + Sayd, Bairns, we been but dead.</p> + +<p> The Gordon then his bougill blew,<br> + And said, Awa', awa';<br> + This house o' the Rodes is a' in flame,<br> + I hauld it time to ga'.</p> + +<p> O then bespyed hir ain dear lord,<br> + As hee cam owr the lee;<br> + He sied his castle all in blaze Sa far as he could see.</p> + +<p> Then sair, O sair his mind misgave,<br> + And all his hart was wae;<br> + Put on, put on, my wighty men,<br> + So fast as ze can gae.</p> + +<p> Put on, put on, my wighty men,<br> + Sa fast as ze can drie;<br> + For he that is hindmost of the thrang<br> + Sall neir get guid o' me.</p> + +<p> Than sum they rade, and sum they rin,<br> + Fou fast out-owr the bent;<br> + But eir the foremost could get up,<br> + Baith lady and babes were brent.</p> + +<p> He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,<br> + And wept in teenefu' muid:<br> + O traitors, for this cruel deid<br> + Ze sall weep tiers o' bluid.</p> + +<p> And after the Gordon he is gane,<br> + Sa fast as he might drie.<br> + And soon i' the Gordon's foul hartis bluid<br> + He's wroken his dear ladie.</p> + + + + +<img alt="183.jpg (28K)" src="images/183.jpg" height="369" width="440"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2>THE BALLAD OF <a name="chap24">CHEVY CHACE</a></h2> +<img alt="184.jpg (108K)" src="images/184.jpg" height="435" width="773"> +<br><br> + + +<p> God prosper long our noble king,<br> + Our lives and safetyes all;<br> + A woefull hunting once there did<br> + In Chevy-Chace befall;</p> + +<p> To drive the deere with hound and horne,<br> + Erle Percy took his way,<br> + The child may rue that is unborne,<br> + The hunting of that day.</p> + +<p> The stout Erle of Northumberland<br> + A vow to God did make,<br> + His pleasure in the Scottish woods<br> + Three summers days to take;</p> + +<p> The cheefest harts in Chevy-chace<br> + To kill and beare away.<br> + These tydings to Erle Douglas came,<br> + In Scotland where he lay:</p> + +<p> Who sent Erle Percy present word,<br> + He wold prevent his sport.<br> + The English erle, not fearing that,<br> + Did to the woods resort</p> + +<p> With fifteen hundred bow-men bold;<br> + All chosen men of might,<br> + Who knew full well in time of neede<br> + To ayme their shafts arright.</p> + +<p> The galland greyhounds swiftly ran,<br> + To chase the fallow deere:<br> + On munday they began to hunt,<br> + Ere day-light did appeare;</p> + +<p> And long before high noone they had<br> + An hundred fat buckes slaine;<br> + Then having dined, the drovyers went<br> + To rouze the deare againe.</p> + +<p> The bow-men mustered on the hills,<br> + Well able to endure;<br> + Theire backsides all, with speciall care,<br> + That day were guarded sure.</p> + +<p> The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,<br> + The nimble deere to take,<br> + That with their cryes the hills and dales<br> + An eccho shrill did make.</p> + +<p> Lord Percy to the quarry went,<br> + To view the slaughter'd deere;<br> + Quoth he, Erle Douglas promised<br> + This day to meet me heere:</p> + +<p> But if I thought he wold not come,<br> + Noe longer wold I stay.<br> + With that, a brave younge gentleman<br> + Thus to the Erle did say:</p> + +<p> Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,<br> + His men in armour bright;<br> + Full twenty hundred Scottish speres<br> + All marching in our sight;</p> + +<p> All men of pleasant Tivydale,<br> + Fast by the river Tweede:<br> + O cease your sports, Erle Percy said,<br> + And take your bowes with speede:</p> + +<p> And now with me, my countrymen,<br> + Your courage forth advance;<br> + For there was never champion yett,<br> + In Scotland nor in France,</p> + +<p> That ever did on horsebacke come,<br> + But if my hap it were,<br> + I durst encounter man for man,<br> + With him to break a spere.</p> + +<p> Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,<br> + Most like a baron bolde,<br> + Rode foremost of his company,<br> + Whose armour shone like gold.</p> + +<p> Show me, sayd hee, whose men you bee,<br> + That hunt soe boldly heere,<br> + That, without my consent, doe chase<br> + And kill my fallow-deere.</p> + +<p> The first man that did answer make<br> + Was noble Percy hee;<br> + Who sayd, Wee list not to declare,<br> + Nor shew whose men wee bee:<br> + Yet wee will spend our deerest blood,<br> + Thy cheefest harts to slay.<br> + Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,<br> + And thus in rage did say,</p> + +<p> Ere thus I will out-braved bee,<br> + One of us two shall dye:<br> + I know thee well, an erle thou art;<br> + Lord Percy, soe am I.</p> + +<p> But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,<br> + And great offence to kill<br> + Any of these our guiltlesse men,<br> + For they have done no ill.</p> + +<p> Let thou and I the battell trye,<br> + And set our men aside.<br> + Accurst bee he, Erle Percy sayd,<br> + By whome this is denyed.</p> + +<p> Then stept a gallant squier forth,<br> + Witherington was his name,<br> + Who said, I wold not have it told<br> + To Henry our king for shame,</p> + +<p> That ere my captaine fought on foote,<br> + And I stood looking on.<br> + You be two erles, sayd Witherington,<br> + And I a squier alone:</p> + +<p> He doe the best that doe I may,<br> + While I have power to stand:<br> + While I have power to weeld my sword<br> + He fight with hart and hand.</p> + +<p> Our English archers bent their bowes,<br> + Their harts were good and trew;<br> + Att the first flight of arrowes sent,<br> + Full four-score Scots they slew.</p> + +<p> Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,<br> + As Chieftain stout and good.<br> + As valiant Captain, all unmov'd<br> + The shock he firmly stood.</p> + +<p> His host he parted had in three,<br> + As Leader ware and try'd,<br> + And soon his spearmen on their foes<br> + Bare down on every side.</p> + +<p> To drive the deere with hound and horne,<br> + Douglas bade on the bent<br> + Two captaines moved with mickle might<br> + Their speres to shivers went.</p> + +<p> Throughout the English archery<br> + They dealt full many a wound:<br> + But still our valiant Englishmen<br> + All firmly kept their ground:</p> + +<p> And throwing strait their bows away,<br> + They grasp'd their swords so bright:<br> + And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,<br> + On shields and helmets light.</p> + +<p> They closed full fast on every side,<br> + Noe slackness there was found:<br> + And many a gallant gentleman<br> + Lay gasping on the ground.</p> + +<p> O Christ! it was a griefe to see;<br> + And likewise for to heare,<br> + The cries of men lying in their gore,<br> + And scattered here and there.</p> + +<p> At last these two stout erles did meet,<br> + Like captaines of great might:<br> + Like lyons wood, they layd on lode,<br> + And made a cruell fight:</p> + +<p> They fought untill they both did sweat,<br> + With swords of tempered steele;<br> + Untill the blood, like drops of rain,<br> + They tricklin downe did feele.</p> + +<p> Yeeld thee, Lord Percy, Douglas sayd<br> + In faith I will thee bringe,<br> + Where thou shalt high advanced bee<br> + By James our Scottish king:</p> + +<p> Thy ransome I will freely give,<br> + And this report of thee,<br> + Thou art the most couragious knight,<br> + That ever I did see.</p> + +<p> Noe, Douglas, quoth Erle Percy then,<br> + Thy proffer I doe scorne;<br> + I will not yeelde to any Scott,<br> + That ever yett was borne.</p> + +<p> With that, there came an arrow keene<br> + Out of an English bow,<br> + Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,<br> + A deepe and deadlye blow:</p> + +<p> Who never spake more words than these,<br> + Fight on, my merry men all;<br> + For why, my life is at an end;<br> + Lord Percy sees my fall.</p> + +<p> Then leaving liffe, Erie Percy tooke<br> + The dead man by the hand;<br> + And said, Erle Douglas, for thy life<br> + Wold I had lost my land.</p> + +<p> O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed<br> + With sorrow for thy sake;<br> + For sure, a more redoubted knight<br> + Mischance cold never take.</p> + +<p> A knight amongst the Scotts there was<br> + Which saw Erle Douglas dye,<br> + Who streight in wrath did vow revenge<br> + Upon the Lord Percye:</p> + +<p> Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd,<br> + Who, with a spere most bright,<br> + Well-mounted on a gallant steed,<br> + Ran fiercely through the fight;</p> + +<p> And past the English archers all,<br> + Without all dread or feare;<br> + And through Earl Percyes body then<br> + He thrust his hatefull spere;</p> + +<p> With such a vehement force and might<br> + He did his body gore,<br> + The staff ran through the other side<br> + A large cloth-yard and more.</p> + +<p> So thus did both these nobles dye,<br> + Whose courage none could staine:<br> + An English archer then perceiv'd<br> + The noble erle was slaine;</p> + +<p> He had a bow bent in his hand,<br> + Made of a trusty tree;<br> + An arrow of a cloth-yard long<br> + Up to the head drew hee:</p> + +<p> Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,<br> + So right the shaft he sett,<br> + The grey goose-winge that was thereon,<br> + In his harts bloode was wette.</p> + +<p> This fight did last from breake of day,<br> + Till setting of the sun;<br> + For when they rang the evening-bell,<br> + The battel scarce was done.</p> + +<p> With stout Erle Percy there was slaine<br> + Sir John of Egerton,<br> + Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,<br> + Sir James that bold barròn:</p> + +<p> And with Sir George and stout Sir James,<br> + Both knights of good account,<br> + Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine,<br> + Whose prowesse did surmount.</p> + +<p> For Witherington needs must I wayle,<br> + As one in doleful dumpes;<br> + For when his leggs were smitten off,<br> + He fought upon his stumpes.</p> + +<p> And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine<br> + Sir Hugh Montgomerye,<br> + Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld<br> + One foote wold never flee.</p> + +<p> Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too,<br> + His sisters sonne was hee;<br> + Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,<br> + Yet saved cold not bee.</p> + +<p> And the Lord Maxwell in like case<br> + Did with Erle Douglas dye:<br> + Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,<br> + Scarce fifty-five did flye.</p> + +<p> Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,<br> + Went home but fifty-three;<br> + The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chace,<br> + Under the greene woode tree.</p> + +<p> Next day did many widowes come,<br> + Their husbands to bewayle;<br> + They washt their wounds in brinish teares,<br> + But all wold not prevayle.</p> + +<p> Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple gore,<br> + They bare with them away:<br> + They kist them dead a thousand times,<br> + Ere they were cladd in clay.</p> + +<p> The news was brought to Eddenborrow,<br> + Where Scottlands king did raigne,<br> + That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye<br> + Was with an arrow slaine:</p> + +<p> O heavy newes, King James did say,<br> + Scotland may witnesse bee,<br> + I have not any captaine more<br> + Of such account as hee.</p> + +<p> Like tydings to King Henry came,<br> + Within as short a space,<br> + That Percy of Northumberland<br> + Was slaine in Chevy-Chace:</p> + +<p> Now God be with him, said our king,<br> + Sith it will noe better bee;<br> + I trust I have, within my realme,<br> + Five hundred as good as hee:</p> + +<p> Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say,<br> + But I will vengeance take:<br> + I'll be revenged on them all,<br> + For brave Erle Percyes sake.</p> + +<p> This vow full well the king perform'd<br> + After, at Humbledowne;<br> + In one day, fifty knights were slayne,<br> + With lords of great renowne:</p> + +<p> And of the rest, of small acount,<br> + Did many thousands dye:<br> + Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,<br> + Made by the Erle Percy.</p> + +<p> God save our king, and bless this land<br> + With plenty, joy, and peace;<br> + And grant henceforth, that foule debate<br> + 'Twixt noblemen may cease.</p> + +<img alt="195.jpg (87K)" src="images/195.jpg" height="597" width="785"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap25">SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE</a></h2> +<img alt="196.jpg (121K)" src="images/196.jpg" height="599" width="759"> +<br><br> + +<p> When Arthur first in court began,<br> + And was approved king,<br> + By force of armes great victorys wanne,<br> + And conquest home did bring,</p> + +<p> Then into England straight he came<br> + With fifty good and able<br> + Knights, that resorted unto him,<br> + And were of his round table:</p> + +<p> And he had justs and turnaments,<br> + Whereto were many prest,<br> + Wherein some knights did far excell<br> + And eke surmount the rest.</p> + +<p> But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,<br> + Who was approved well,<br> + He for his deeds and feats of armes<br> + All others did excell.</p> + +<p> When he had rested him a while,<br> + In play, and game, and sportt,<br> + He said he wold goe prove himselfe<br> + In some adventurous sort.</p> + +<p> He armed rode in a forrest wide,<br> + And met a damsell faire,<br> + Who told him of adventures great,<br> + Whereto he gave great eare.</p> + +<p> Such wold I find, quoth Lancelott:<br> + For that cause came I hither.<br> + Thou seemest, quoth shee, a knight full good,<br> + And I will bring thee thither.</p> + +<p> Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell,<br> + That now is of great fame:<br> + Therefore tell me what wight thou art,<br> + And what may be thy name.</p> + +<p> "My name is Lancelot du Lake."<br> + Quoth she, it likes me than:<br> + Here dwelles a knight who never was<br> + Yet matcht with any man:</p> + +<p> Who has in prison threescore knights<br> + And four, that he did wound;<br> + Knights of King Arthurs court they be,<br> + And of his table round.</p> + +<p> She brought him to a river side,<br> + And also to a tree,<br> + Whereon a copper bason hung,<br> + And many shields to see.</p> + +<p> He struck soe hard, the bason broke;<br> + And Tarquin soon he spyed:<br> + Who drove a horse before him fast,<br> + Whereon a knight lay tyed.</p> + +<p> Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelett,<br> + Bring me that horse-load hither,<br> + And lay him downe, and let him rest;<br> + Weel try our force together:</p> + +<p> For, as I understand, thou hast,<br> + So far as thou art able,<br> + Done great despite and shame unto<br> + The knights of the Round Table.</p> + +<p> If thou be of the Table Round,<br> + Quoth Tarquin speedilye,<br> + Both thee and all thy fellowship<br> + I utterly defye.</p> + +<p> That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho,<br> + Defend thee by and by.<br> + They sett their speares unto their steeds,<br> + And eache att other flie.</p> + +<p> They coucht theire speares (their horses ran,<br> + As though there had beene thunder),<br> + And strucke them each immidst their shields,<br> + Wherewith they broke in sunder.</p> + +<p> Their horsses backes brake under them,<br> + The knights were both astound:<br> + To avoyd their horsses they made haste<br> + And light upon the ground.</p> + +<p> They tooke them to their shields full fast,<br> + Their swords they drewe out than,<br> + With mighty strokes most eagerlye<br> + Each at the other ran.</p> + +<p> They wounded were, and bled full sore,<br> + They both for breath did stand,<br> + And leaning on their swords awhile,<br> + Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand,</p> + +<p> And tell to me what I shall aske.<br> + Say on, quoth Lancelot tho.<br> + Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight<br> + That ever I did know:</p> + +<p> And like a knight, that I did hate:<br> + Soe that thou be not hee,<br> + I will deliver all the rest,<br> + And eke accord with thee.</p> + +<p> That is well said, quoth Lancelott;<br> + But sith it must be soe,<br> + What knight is that thou hatest thus<br> + I pray thee to me show.</p> + +<p> His name is Lancelot du Lake,<br> + He slew my brother deere;<br> + Him I suspect of all the rest:<br> + I would I had him here.</p> + +<p> Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne,<br> + I am Lancelot du Lake,<br> + Now knight of Arthurs Table Round;<br> + King Hauds son of Schuwake;</p> + +<p> And I desire thee to do thy worst.<br> + Ho, ho, quoth Tarquin tho'<br> + One of us two shall ende our lives<br> + Before that we do go.</p> + +<p> If thou be Lancelot du Lake,<br> + Then welcome shalt thou bee:<br> + Wherfore see thou thyself defend,<br> + For now defye I thee.</p> + +<p> They buckled them together so,<br> + Like unto wild boares rashing;<br> + And with their swords and shields they ran<br> + At one another slashing:</p> + +<p> The ground besprinkled was with blood:<br> + Tarquin began to yield;<br> + For he gave backe for wearinesse,<br> + And lowe did beare his shield.</p> + +<p> This soone Sir Lancelot espyde,<br> + He leapt upon him then,<br> + He pull'd him downe upon his knee,<br> + And rushing off his helm,</p> + +<p> Forthwith he strucke his necke in two,<br> + And, when he had soe done,<br> + From prison threescore knights and four<br> + Delivered everye one.</p> + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap26">GIL MORRICE</a></h2> +<img alt="202.jpg (110K)" src="images/202.jpg" height="585" width="776"> +<br><br> +<a name="morrice"></a> +<img alt="morrice.jpg (179K)" src="images/morrice.jpg" height="1024" width="750"> + +<p> Gil Morrice was an erles son,<br> + His name it waxed wide;<br> + It was nae for his great riches,<br> + Nor zet his mickle pride;<br> + Bot it was for a lady gay,<br> + That livd on Carron side.</p> + +<p> Quhair sail I get a bonny boy,<br> + That will win hose and shoen;<br> + That will gae to Lord Barnards ha',<br> + And bid his lady cum?<br> + And ze maun rin my errand, Willie;<br> + And ze may rin wi' pride;<br> + Quhen other boys gae on their foot<br> + On horse-back ze sail ride.</p> + +<p> O no! Oh no! my master dear!<br> + I dare nae for my life;<br> + I'll no gae to the bauld baròns,<br> + For to triest furth his wife.<br> + My bird Willie, my boy Willie;<br> + My dear Willie, he sayd:<br> + How can ze strive against the stream?<br> + For I sall be obeyd.</p> + +<p> Bot, O my master dear! he cryd,<br> + In grene wod ze're zour lain;<br> + Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede,<br> + For fear ze should be tain.<br> + Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',<br> + Bid hir cum here wi speid:<br> + If ze refuse my heigh command,<br> + Ill gar zour body bleid.</p> + +<p> Gae bid hir take this gay mantel,<br> + 'Tis a' gowd hot the hem;<br> + Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,<br> + And bring nane bot hir lain:<br> + And there it is a silken sarke,<br> + Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;<br> + And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,<br> + Speir nae bauld barons leave.</p> + +<p> Yes, I will gae zour black errand,<br> + Though it be to zour cost;<br> + Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd,<br> + In it ze sail find frost.<br> + The baron he is a man of might,<br> + He neir could bide to taunt,<br> + As ze will see before its nicht,<br> + How sma' ze hae to vaunt.</p> + +<p> And sen I maun zour errand rin<br> + Sae sair against my will,<br> + I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,<br> + It sall be done for ill.<br> + And quhen he came to broken brigue,<br> + He bent his bow and swam;<br> + And quhen he came to grass growing,<br> + Set down his feet and ran.</p> + +<p> And quhen he came to Barnards ha',<br> + Would neither chap nor ca':<br> + Bot set his bent bow to his breist,<br> + And lichtly lap the wa'.<br> + He wauld nae tell the man his errand,<br> + Though he stude at the gait;<br> + Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,<br> + Quhair they were set at meit.</p> + +<p> Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!<br> + My message winna waite;<br> + Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod<br> + Before that it be late.<br> + Ze're bidden tak this gay mantèl,<br> + Tis a' gowd bot the hem:<br> + Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode,<br> + Ev'n by your sel alane.</p> + +<p> And there it is, a silken sarke,<br> + Your ain hand sewd the sleive;<br> + Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morice:<br> + Speir nae bauld barons leave.<br> + The lady stamped wi' hir foot,<br> + And winked wi' hir ee;<br> + Bot a' that she coud say or do,<br> + Forbidden he wad nae bee.</p> + +<p> Its surely to my bow'r-womàn;<br> + It neir could be to me.<br> + I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady;<br> + I trow that ze be she.<br> + Then up and spack the wylie nurse,<br> + (The bairn upon hir knee)<br> + If it be cum frae Gill Morice,<br> + It's deir welcum to mee.</p> + +<p> Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse,<br> + Sae loud I heird zee lee;<br> + I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady;<br> + I trow ze be nae shee.<br> + Then up and spack the bauld baròn,<br> + An angry man was hee;<br> + He's tain the table wi' his foot,<br> + Sae has he wi' his knee;<br> + Till siller cup and 'mazer' dish<br> + In flinders he gard flee.</p> + +<p> Gae bring a robe of zour clidìng,<br> + That hings upon the pin;<br> + And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,<br> + And speik wi' zour lemmàn.<br> + O bide at hame, now Lord Barnàrd,<br> + I warde ze bide at hame;<br> + Neir wyte a man for violence,<br> + That neir wate ze wi' nane.</p> + +<p> Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode,<br> + He whistled and he sang:<br> + O what mean a' the folk comìng,<br> + My mother tarries lang.<br> + His hair was like the threeds of gold,<br> + Drawne frae Minerva's loome:<br> + His lipps like roses drapping dew,<br> + His breath was a' perfume.</p> + +<p> His brow was like the mountain snae<br> + Gilt by the morning beam:<br> + His cheeks like living roses glow:<br> + His een like azure stream. The boy was clad in robes of +grene,<br> + Sweete as the infant spring:<br> + And like the mavis on the bush,<br> + He gart the vallies ring.</p> + +<p> The baron came to the grene wode,<br> + Wi' mickle dule and care,<br> + And there he first spied Gill Morice<br> + Kameing his zellow hair:<br> + That sweetly wavd around his face,<br> + That face beyond compare:<br> + He sang sae sweet it might dispel<br> + A' rage but fell despair.</p> + +<p> Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morìce,<br> + My lady loed thee weel,<br> + The fairest part of my bodie<br> + Is blacker than thy heel.<br> + Zet neir the less now, Gill Morìce,<br> + For a' thy great beautiè,<br> + Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;<br> + That head sall gae wi' me.</p> + +<p> Now he has drawn his trusty brand,<br> + And slaited on the strae;<br> + And thro' Gill Morice' fair body<br> + He's gar cauld iron gae.<br> + And he has tain Gill Morice's head<br> + And set it on a speir;<br> + The meanest man in a' his train<br> + Has gotten that head to bear.</p> + +<p> And he has tain Gill Morice up,<br> + Laid him across his steid,<br> + And brocht him to his painted bowr,<br> + And laid him on a bed.<br> + The lady sat on castil wa',<br> + Beheld baith dale and doun;<br> + And there she saw Gill Morice' head<br> + Cum trailing to the toun.</p> + +<p> Far better I loe that bluidy head,<br> + Both and that zellow hair,<br> + Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands,<br> + As they lig here and thair.<br> + And she has tain her Gill Morice,<br> + And kissd baith mouth and chin:<br> + I was once as fow of Gill Morice,<br> + As the hip is o' the stean.</p> + +<p> I got ze in my father's house,<br> + Wi' mickle sin and shame;<br> + I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,<br> + Under the heavy rain.<br> + Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,<br> + And fondly seen thee sleip;<br> + But now I gae about thy grave,<br> + The saut tears for to weip.</p> + +<p> And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,<br> + And syne his bluidy chin:<br> + O better I loe my Gill Morice<br> + Than a' my kith and kin!<br> + Away, away, ze ill womàn,<br> + And an il deith mait ze dee:<br> + Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son,<br> + He'd neir bin slain for mee.</p> + +<p> Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard!<br> + Obraid me not for shame!<br> + Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart!<br> + And put me out o' pain.<br> + Since nothing bot Gill Morice head<br> + Thy jelous rage could quell,<br> + Let that saim hand now tak hir life,<br> + That neir to thee did ill.</p> + +<p> To me nae after days nor nichts<br> + Will eir be saft or kind;<br> + I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,<br> + And greet till I am blind.<br> + Enouch of blood by me's been spilt,<br> + Seek not zour death frae mee;<br> + I rather lourd it had been my sel<br> + Than eather him or thee.</p> + +<p> With waefo wae I hear zour plaint;<br> + Sair, sair I rew the deid,<br> + That eir this cursed hand of mine<br> + Had gard his body bleid.<br> + Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame,<br> + Ze neir can heal the wound;<br> + Ze see his head upon the speir,<br> + His heart's blude on the ground.</p> + +<p> I curse the hand that did the deid,<br> + The heart that thocht the ill;<br> + The feet that bore me wi' sik speid,<br> + The comely zouth to kill.<br> + I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,<br> + As gin he were mine ain;<br> + I'll neir forget the dreiry day<br> + On which the zouth was slain.</p> + + +<img alt="210.jpg (37K)" src="images/210.jpg" height="372" width="356"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap27">THE CHILD OF ELLE</a></h2> +<img alt="211.jpg (72K)" src="images/211.jpg" height="565" width="782"> +<br><br> + +<p> On yondre hill a castle standes<br> + With walles and towres bedight,<br> + And yonder lives the Child of Elle,<br> + A younge and comely knighte.</p> + +<p> The Child of Elle to his garden went,<br> + And stood at his garden pale,<br> + Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page<br> + Come trippinge downe the dale.</p> + +<p> The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,<br> + Y-wis he stoode not stille,<br> + And soone he mette faire Emmelines page<br> + Come climbinge up the hille.</p> + +<p> Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,<br> + Now Christe thee save and see!<br> + Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye,<br> + And what may thy tydinges bee?</p> + +<p> My ladye shee is all woe-begone,<br> + And the teares they falle from her eyne;<br> + And aye she laments the deadlye feude<br> + Betweene her house and thine.</p> + +<p> And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe<br> + Bedewde with many a teare,<br> + And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,<br> + Who loved thee so deare.</p> + +<p> And here shee sends thee a ring of golde<br> + The last boone thou mayst have,<br> + And biddes thee weare it for her sake,<br> + Whan she is layde in grave.</p> + +<p> For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,<br> + And in grave soone must shee bee,<br> + Sith her father hath chose her a new new love,<br> + And forbidde her to think of thee.</p> + +<p> Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,<br> + Sir John of the north countràye,<br> + And within three dayes she must him wedde,<br> + Or he vowes he will her slaye.</p> + +<p> Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,<br> + And greet thy ladye from mee,<br> + And telle her that I her owne true love<br> + Will dye, or sette her free.</p> + +<p> Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,<br> + And let thy fair ladye know<br> + This night will I bee at her bowre-windòwe,<br> + Betide me weale or woe.</p> + +<p> The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne,<br> + He neither stint ne stayd<br> + Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre,<br> + Whan kneeling downe he sayd,</p> + +<p> O ladye, I've been with thine own true love,<br> + And he greets thee well by mee;<br> + This night will hee bee at thy bowre-windòwe,<br> + And dye or sett thee free.</p> + +<p> Nowe daye was gone, and night was come,<br> + And all were fast asleepe,<br> + All save the Ladye Emmeline,<br> + Who sate in her bowre to weepe:</p> + +<p> And soone shee heard her true loves voice<br> + Lowe whispering at the walle,<br> + Awake, awake, my deare ladyè,<br> + Tis I thy true love call.</p> + +<p> Awake, awake, my ladye deare,<br> + Come, mount this faire palfràye:<br> + This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe<br> + He carrye thee hence awaye.</p> + +<p> Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight,<br> + Nowe nay, this may not bee;<br> + For aye shold I tint my maiden fame,<br> + If alone I should wend with thee.</p> + +<p> O ladye, thou with a knighte so true<br> + Mayst safelye wend alone,<br> + To my ladye mother I will thee bringe,<br> + Where marriage shall make us one.</p> + +<p> "My father he is a baron bolde,<br> + Of lynage proude and hye;<br> + And what would he saye if his daughtèr<br> + Awaye with a knight should fly</p> + +<p> "Ah! well I wot, he never would rest,<br> + Nor his meate should doe him no goode,<br> + Until he hath slayne thee, Child of Elle,<br> + And scene thy deare hearts bloode."</p> + +<p> O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette,<br> + And a little space him fro,<br> + I would not care for thy cruel fathèr,<br> + Nor the worst that he could doe.</p> + +<p> O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette,<br> + And once without this walle,<br> + I would not care for thy cruel fathèr<br> + Nor the worst that might befalle.</p> + +<p> Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,<br> + And aye her heart was woe:<br> + At length he seized her lilly-white hand,<br> + And downe the ladder he drewe:</p> + +<p> And thrice he clasped her to his breste,<br> + And kist her tenderlìe:<br> + The teares that fell from her fair eyes<br> + Ranne like the fountayne free.</p> + +<p> Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle,<br> + And her on a fair palfràye,<br> + And slung his bugle about his necke,<br> + And roundlye they rode awaye.</p> + +<p> All this beheard her owne damsèlle,<br> + In her bed whereas shee ley,<br> + Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this,<br> + Soe I shall have golde and fee.</p> + +<p> Awake, awake, thou baron bolde!<br> + Awake, my noble dame!<br> + Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle<br> + To doe the deede of shame.</p> + +<p> The baron he woke, the baron he rose,<br> + And called his merrye men all:<br> + "And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte,<br> + Thy ladye is carried to thrall."</p> + +<p> Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,<br> + A mile forth of the towne,<br> + When she was aware of her fathers men<br> + Come galloping over the downe:</p> + +<p> And foremost came the carlish knight,<br> + Sir John of the north countràye:<br> + "Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitòure,<br> + Nor carry that ladye awaye.</p> + +<p> "For she is come of hye lineàge,<br> + And was of a ladye borne,<br> + And ill it beseems thee, a false churl's sonne,<br> + To carrye her hence to scorne."</p> + +<p> Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight,<br> + Nowe thou doest lye of mee;<br> + A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore,<br> + Soe never did none by thee</p> + +<p> But light nowe downe, my ladye faire,<br> + Light downe, and hold my steed,<br> + While I and this discourteous knighte<br> + Doe trye this arduous deede.</p> + +<p> But light now downe, my deare ladyè,<br> + Light downe, and hold my horse;<br> + While I and this discourteous knight<br> + Doe trye our valour's force.</p> + +<p> Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,<br> + And aye her heart was woe,<br> + While twixt her love and the carlish knight<br> + Past many a baleful blowe.</p> + +<p> The Child of Elle hee fought so well,<br> + As his weapon he waved amaine,<br> + That soone he had slaine the carlish knight,<br> + And layd him upon the plaine.</p> + +<p> And nowe the baron and all his men<br> + Full fast approached nye:<br> + Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe<br> + Twere nowe no boote to flye.</p> + +<p> Her lover he put his horne to his mouth,<br> + And blew both loud and shrill,<br> + And soone he saw his owne merry men<br> + Come ryding over the hill.</p> + +<p> "Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baròn,<br> + I pray thee hold thy hand,<br> + Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts<br> + Fast knit in true love's band.</p> + +<p> Thy daughter I have dearly loved<br> + Full long and many a day;<br> + But with such love as holy kirke<br> + Hath freelye sayd wee may.</p> + +<p> O give consent, shee may be mine,<br> + And blesse a faithfull paire:<br> + My lands and livings are not small,<br> + My house and lineage faire:</p> + +<p> My mother she was an earl's daughtèr,<br> + And a noble knyght my sire--<br> + The baron he frowned, and turn'd away<br> + With mickle dole and ire.</p> + +<p> Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept,<br> + And did all tremblinge stand:<br> + At lengthe she sprang upon her knee,<br> + And held his lifted hand.</p> + +<p> Pardon, my lorde and father deare,<br> + This faire yong knyght and mee:<br> + Trust me, but for the carlish knyght,<br> + I never had fled from thee.</p> + +<p> Oft have you called your Emmeline<br> + Your darling and your joye;<br> + O let not then your harsh resolves<br> + Your Emmeline destroye.</p> + +<p> The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke,<br> + And turned his heade asyde<br> + To whipe awaye the starting teare<br> + He proudly strave to hyde.</p> + +<p> In deepe revolving thought he stoode,<br> + And mused a little space;<br> + Then raised faire Emmeline from the grounde,<br> + With many a fond embrace.</p> + +<p> Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd,<br> + And gave her lillye white hand;<br> + Here take my deare and only child,<br> + And with her half my land:</p> + +<p> Thy father once mine honour wrongde<br> + In dayes of youthful pride;<br> + Do thou the injurye repayre<br> + In fondnesse for thy bride.</p> + +<p> And as thou love her, and hold her deare,<br> + Heaven prosper thee and thine:<br> + And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee,<br> + My lovelye Emmeline.</p> + +<img alt="221.jpg (25K)" src="images/221.jpg" height="394" width="218"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap28">CHILD WATERS</a></h2> +<img alt="222.jpg (138K)" src="images/222.jpg" height="626" width="773"> +<br><br> +<a name="childwaters"></a> +<img alt="childwafers.jpg (166K)" src="images/childwafers.jpg" height="1021" width="750"> + +<p> Childe Waters in his stable stoode<br> + And stroakt his milke white steede:<br> + To him a fayre yonge ladye came<br> + As ever ware womans weede.</p> + +<p> Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters;<br> + Sayes, Christ you save, and see:<br> + My girdle of gold that was too longe,<br> + Is now too short for mee.</p> + +<p> And all is with one chyld of yours,<br> + I feel sturre att my side:<br> + My gowne of greene it is too straighte;<br> + Before, it was too wide.</p> + +<p> If the child be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd,<br> + Be mine, as you tell mee;<br> + Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,<br> + Take them your owne to bee.</p> + +<p> If the childe be mine, fair Ellen, he sayd,<br> + Be mine, as you doe sweare;<br> + Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,<br> + And make that child your heyre.</p> + +<p> Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse,<br> + Child Waters, of thy mouth;<br> + Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,<br> + That laye by north and south.</p> + +<p> And I had rather have one twinkling,<br> + Childe Waters, of thine ee;<br> + Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,<br> + To take them mine owne to bee.</p> + +<p> To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde<br> + Farr into the north countrie;<br> + The fairest lady that I can find,<br> + Ellen, must goe with mee.</p> + +<p> 'Thoughe I am not that lady fayre,<br> + 'Yet let me go with thee:'<br> + And ever I pray you, Child Watèrs,<br> + Your foot-page let me bee.</p> + +<p> If you will my foot-page be, Ellen,<br> + As you doe tell to mee;<br> + Then you must cut your gowne of greene,<br> + An inch above your knee:</p> + +<p> Soe must you doe your yellow lockes,<br> + An inch above your ee:<br> + You must tell no man what is my name;<br> + My foot-page then you shall bee.</p> + +<p> Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode,<br> + Ran barefoote by his side;<br> + Yett was he never soe courteous a knighte,<br> + To say, Ellen, will you ryde?</p> + +<p> Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode,<br> + Ran barefoote thorow the broome;<br> + Yett hee was never soe curteous a knighte,<br> + To say, put on your shoone.</p> + +<p> Ride softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters,<br> + Why doe you ryde soe fast?<br> + The childe, which is no mans but thine,<br> + My bodye itt will brast.</p> + +<p> Hee sayth, seeth thou yonder water, Ellen,<br> + That flows from bank to brimme?--<br> + I trust to God, O Child Waters,<br> + You never will see mee swimme.</p> + +<p> But when shee came to the waters side,<br> + Shee sayled to the chinne:<br> + Except the Lord of heaven be my speed,<br> + Now must I learne to swimme.</p> + +<p> The salt waters bare up her clothes;<br> + Our Ladye bare upp her chinne:<br> + Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord,<br> + To see faire Ellen swimme.</p> + +<p> And when shee over the water was,<br> + Shee then came to his knee:<br> + He said, Come hither, thou fair Ellèn,<br> + Loe yonder what I see.</p> + +<p> Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?<br> + Of redd gold shines the yate;<br> + Of twenty foure faire ladyes there,<br> + The fairest is my mate.</p> + +<p> Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?<br> + Of redd gold shines the towre:<br> + There are twenty four fair ladyes there,<br> + The fairest is my paramoure.</p> + +<p> I see the hall now, Child Waters,<br> + Of redd golde shines the yate:<br> + God give you good now of yourselfe,<br> + And of your worthye mate.</p> + +<p> I see the hall now, Child Waters,<br> + Of redd gold shines the towre:<br> + God give you good now of yourselfe,<br> + And of your paramoure.</p> + +<p> There twenty four fayre ladyes were<br> + A playing att the ball:<br> + And Ellen the fairest ladye there,<br> + Must bring his steed to the stall.</p> + +<p> There twenty four fayre ladyes were<br> + A playinge at the chesse;<br> + And Ellen the fayrest ladye there,<br> + Must bring his horse to gresse.</p> + +<p> And then bespake Childe Waters sister,<br> + These were the wordes said shee:<br> + You have the prettyest foot-page, brother,<br> + That ever I saw with mine ee.</p> + +<p> But that his bellye it is soe bigg,<br> + His girdle goes wonderous hie:<br> + And let him, I pray you, Childe Watères,<br> + Goe into the chamber with mee.</p> + +<p> It is not fit for a little foot-page,<br> + That has run throughe mosse and myre,<br> + To go into the chamber with any ladye,<br> + That weares soe riche attyre.</p> + +<p> It is more meete for a litle foot-page,<br> + That has run throughe mosse and myre,<br> + To take his supper upon his knee,<br> + And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer.</p> + +<p> But when they had supped every one,<br> + To bedd they tooke theyr waye:<br> + He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page,<br> + And hearken what I saye.</p> + +<p> Goe thee downe into yonder towne,<br> + And low into the street;<br> + The fayrest ladye that thou can finde,</p> + +<p> Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe,<br> + And take her up in thine armes twaine,<br> + For filinge of her feete.</p> + +<p> Ellen is gone into the towne,<br> + And low into the streete:<br> + The fairest ladye that she cold find,<br> + Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe;<br> + And tooke her up in her armes twayne,<br> + For filing of her feete.</p> + +<p> I pray you nowe, good Child Watèrs,<br> + Let mee lye at your bedds feete:<br> + For there is noe place about this house,<br> + Where I may 'saye a sleepe.</p> + +<p> 'He gave her leave, and faire Ellèn<br> + 'Down at his beds feet laye:'<br> + This done the nighte drove on apace,<br> + And when it was neare the daye,</p> + +<p> Hee sayd, Rise up, my litle foot-page,<br> + Give my steede corne and haye;<br> + And soe doe thou the good black oats,<br> + To carry mee better awaye.</p> + +<p> Up then rose the faire Ellèn,<br> + And gave his steede corne and hay:<br> + And soe shee did the good blacke oats,<br> + To carry him the better away.</p> + +<p> Shee leaned her backe to the manger side,<br> + And grievouslye did groane:<br> + Shee leaned her backe to the manger side,<br> + And there shee made her moane.</p> + +<p> And that beheard his mother deere,<br> + Shee heard her there monand.<br> + Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Watèrs,<br> + I think thee a cursed man.</p> + +<p> For in thy stable is a ghost,<br> + That grievouslye doth grone:<br> + Or else some woman laboures of childe,<br> + She is soe woe-begone.</p> + +<p> Up then rose Childe Waters soon,<br> + And did on his shirte of silke;<br> + And then he put on his other clothes,<br> + On his body as white as milke.</p> + +<p> And when he came to the stable dore,<br> + Full still there he did stand,<br> + That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellèn<br> + Howe shee made her monànd.</p> + +<p> Shee sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child,<br> + Lullabye, dere child, dere;<br> + I wold thy father were a king,<br> + Thy mother layd on a biere.</p> + +<p> Peace now, he said, good faire Ellèn,<br> + Be of good cheere, I praye;<br> + And the bridal and the churching both<br> + Shall bee upon one day.</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap29">KING EDWARD IV & THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH</a></h2> +<img alt="230.jpg (137K)" src="images/230.jpg" height="601" width="782"> +<br><br> + +<p> In summer time, when leaves grow greene,<br> + And blossoms bedecke the tree,<br> + King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,<br> + Some pastime for to see.</p> + +<p> With hawke and hounde he made him bowne,<br> + With horne, and eke with bowe;<br> + To Drayton Basset he tooke his waye,<br> + With all his lordes a rowe.</p> + +<p> And he had ridden ore dale and downe<br> + By eight of clocke in the day,<br> + When he was ware of a bold tannèr,<br> + Come ryding along the waye.</p> + +<p> A fayre russet coat the tanner had on<br> + Fast buttoned under his chin,<br> + And under him a good cow-hide,<br> + And a marc of four shilling.</p> + +<p> Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all,<br> + Under the grene wood spraye;<br> + And I will wend to yonder fellowe,<br> + To weet what he will saye.</p> + +<p> God speede, God speede thee, said our king.<br> + Thou art welcome, Sir, sayd hee.<br> + "The readyest waye to Drayton Basset<br> + I praye thee to shew to mee."</p> + +<p> "To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe,<br> + Fro the place where thou dost stand?<br> + The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto,<br> + Turne in upon thy right hand."</p> + +<p> That is an unreadye waye, sayd our king,<br> + Thou doest but jest, I see;<br> + Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye,<br> + And I pray thee wend with mee.</p> + +<p> Away with a vengeance! quoth the tanner:<br> + I hold thee out of thy witt:<br> + All daye have I rydden on Brocke my mare,<br> + And I am fasting yett.</p> + +<p> "Go with me downe to Drayton Basset,<br> + No daynties we will spare;<br> + All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best,<br> + And I will paye thy fare."</p> + +<p> Gramercye for nothing, the tanner replyde,<br> + Thou payest no fare of mine:<br> + I trowe I've more nobles in my purse,<br> + Than thou hast pence in thine.</p> + +<p> God give thee joy of them, sayd the king,<br> + And send them well to priefe.<br> + The tanner wolde faine have beene away,<br> + For he weende he had beene a thiefe.</p> + +<p> What art thou, hee sayde, thou fine fellowe,<br> + Of thee I am in great feare,<br> + For the clothes, thou wearest upon thy back,<br> + Might beseeme a lord to weare.</p> + +<p> I never stole them, quoth our king,<br> + I tell you, Sir, by the roode.<br> + "Then thou playest, as many an unthrift doth,<br> + And standest in midds of thy goode."</p> + +<p> What tydinges heare you, sayd the kynge,<br> + As you ryde farre and neare?<br> + "I heare no tydinges, Sir, by the masse,<br> + But that cowe-hides are deare."</p> + +<p> "Cow-hides! cow-hides! what things are those?<br> + I marvell what they bee?"<br> + What, art thou a foole? the tanner reply'd;<br> + I carry one under mee.</p> + +<p> What craftsman art thou, said the king,<br> + I pray thee tell me trowe.<br> + "I am a barker, Sir, by my trade;<br> + Nowe tell me what art thou?"</p> + +<p> I am a poor courtier, Sir, quoth he,<br> + That am forth of service worne;<br> + And faine I wolde thy prentise bee,<br> + Thy cunninge for to learne.</p> + +<p> Marrye heaven forfend, the tanner replyde,<br> + That thou my prentise were:<br> + Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne<br> + By fortye shilling a yere.</p> + +<p> Yet one thinge wolde I, sayd our king,<br> + If thou wilt not seeme strange:<br> + Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare,<br> + Yet with thee I fain wold change.</p> + +<p> "Why if with me thou faine wilt change,<br> + As change full well maye wee,<br> + By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellowe<br> + I will have some boot of thee."</p> + +<p> That were against reason, sayd the king,<br> + I sweare, so mote I thee:<br> + My horse is better than thy mare,<br> + And that thou well mayst see.</p> + +<p> "Yea, Sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild,<br> + And softly she will fare:<br> + Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss;<br> + Aye skipping here and theare."</p> + +<p> What boote wilt thou have? our king reply'd;<br> + Now tell me in this stound.<br> + "Noe pence, nor halfpence, by my faye,<br> + But a noble in gold so round.</p> + +<p> "Here's twentye groates of white moneye,<br> + Sith thou will have it of mee."<br> + I would have sworne now, quoth the tanner,<br> + Thou hadst not had one pennie.</p> + +<p> But since we two have made a change,<br> + A change we must abide,<br> + Although thou hast gotten Brocke my mare,<br> + Thou gettest not my cowe-hide.</p> + +<p> I will not have it, sayd the kynge,<br> + I sweare, so mought I thee;<br> + Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare,<br> + If thou woldst give it to mee.</p> + +<p> The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide,<br> + That of the cow was bilt;<br> + And threwe it upon the king's sadelle,<br> + That was soe fayrelye gilte.<br> + "Now help me up, thou fine fellowe,<br> + 'Tis time that I were gone:<br> + When I come home to Gyllian my wife,<br> + Sheel say I am a gentilmon."</p> + +<p> The king he tooke him up by the legge;<br> + The tanner a f----- lett fall.<br> + Nowe marrye, good fellowe, sayd the king,<br> + Thy courtesye is but small.</p> + +<p> When the tanner he was in the kinges sadèlle,<br> + And his foote in the stirrup was;<br> + He marvelled greatlye in his minde,<br> + Whether it were golde or brass.</p> + +<p> But when the steede saw the cows taile wagge,<br> + And eke the blacke cowe-horne;<br> + He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne,<br> + As the devill had him borne.</p> + +<p> The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat,<br> + And held by the pummil fast:<br> + At length the tanner came tumbling downe;<br> + His necke he had well-nye brast.</p> + +<p> Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he sayd,<br> + With mee he shall not byde.<br> + "My horse wolde have borne thee well enoughe,<br> + But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide.</p> + +<p> Yet if againe thou faine woldst change,<br> + As change full well may wee,<br> + By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tannèr,<br> + I will have some boote of thee."</p> + +<p> What boote wilt thou have? the tanner replyd,<br> + Nowe tell me in this stounde.<br> + "Noe pence nor halfpence, Sir, by my faye,<br> + But I will have twentye pound."</p> + +<p> "Here's twentye groates out of my purse;<br> + And twentye I have of thine:<br> + And I have one more, which we will spend<br> + Together at the wine."</p> + +<p> The king set a bugle home to his mouthe,<br> + And blewe both loude and shrille:<br> + And soone came lords, and soone came knights,<br> + Fast ryding over the hille.</p> + +<p> Nowe, out alas! the tanner he cryde,<br> + That ever I sawe this daye!<br> + Thou art a strong thiefe, yon come thy fellowes Will beare +my<br> +cowe-hide away.</p> + +<p> They are no thieves, the king replyde,<br> + I sweare, soe mote I thee:<br> + But they are the lords of the north countrèy,<br> + Here come to hunt with mee.</p> + +<p> And soone before our king they came,<br> + And knelt downe on the grounde:<br> + Then might the tanner have beene awaye,<br> + He had lever than twentye pounde.</p> + +<p> A coller, a coller, here: sayd the king,<br> + A coller he loud gan crye:<br> + Then woulde he lever than twentye pound,<br> + He had not beene so nighe.</p> + +<p> A coller, a coller, the tanner he sayd,<br> + I trowe it will breed sorrowe:<br> + After a coller cometh a halter,<br> + I trow I shall be hang'd to-morrowe.</p> + +<p> Be not afraid, tanner, said our king;<br> + I tell thee, so mought I thee,<br> + Lo here I make thee the best esquire<br> + That is in the North countrie.</p> + +<p> For Plumpton-parke I will give thee,<br> + With tenements faire beside:<br> + 'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare,<br> + To maintaine thy good cowe-hide.</p> + +<p> Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde,<br> + For the favour thou hast me showne;<br> + If ever thou comest to merry Tamwòrth,<br> + Neates leather shall clout thy shoen.</p> + + +<img alt="238.jpg (24K)" src="images/238.jpg" height="418" width="259"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap30">SIR PATRICK SPENS</a></h2> +<img alt="239.jpg (78K)" src="images/239.jpg" height="416" width="809"> +<br><br> + +<p> The king sits in Dumferling toune,<br> + Drinking the blude-reid wine:<br> + O quhar will I get guid sailòr,<br> + To sail this schip of mine.</p> + +<p> Up and spak an eldern knicht,<br> + Sat at the kings richt kne:<br> + Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailòr,<br> + That sails upon the se.</p> + +<p> The king has written a braid letter,<br> + And signd it wi' his hand;<br> + And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,<br> + Was walking on the sand.</p> + +<p> The first line that Sir Patrick red,<br> + A loud lauch lauched he:<br> + The next line that Sir Patrick red,<br> + The teir blinded his ee.</p> + +<p> O quha is this has don this deid,<br> + This ill deid don to me;<br> + To send me out this time o' the zeir,<br> + To sail upon the se.</p> + +<p> Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,<br> + Our guid schip sails the morne,<br> + O say na sae, my master deir,<br> + For I feir a deadlie storme.</p> + +<p> Late late yestreen I saw the new moone<br> + Wi' the auld moone in hir arme;<br> + And I feir, I feir, my deir master,<br> + That we will com to harme.</p> + +<p> O our Scots nobles wer richt laith<br> + To weet their cork-heild schoone;<br> + Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,<br> + Thair hats they swam aboone.</p> + +<p> O lang, lang, may thair ladies sit<br> + Wi' thair fans into their hand,<br> + Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spens<br> + Cum sailing to the land.</p> + +<p> O lang, lang, may the ladies stand<br> + Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,<br> + Waiting for thair ain deir lords,<br> + For they'll se thame na mair.</p> + +<p> Have owre, have owre to Aberdour,<br> + It's fiftie fadom deip:<br> + And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spens,<br> + Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.</p> + +<img alt="241.jpg (33K)" src="images/241.jpg" height="342" width="402"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap31">THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER</a></h2> +<img alt="242.jpg (94K)" src="images/242.jpg" height="515" width="776"> +<br><br> +<a name="mars"></a> +<img alt="mars.jpg (166K)" src="images/mars.jpg" height="983" width="750"> + +<p> It was intill a pleasant time,<br> + Upon a simmer's day,<br> + The noble Earl of Mar's daughter<br> + Went forth to sport and play.</p> + +<p> As thus she did amuse hersell,<br> + Below a green aik tree,<br> + There she saw a sprightly doo<br> + Set on a tower sae hie.</p> + +<p> "O cow-me-doo, my love sae true,<br> + If ye'll come down to me,<br> + Ye 'se hae a cage o guid red gowd<br> + Instead o simple tree:</p> + +<p> "I'll put growd hingers roun your cage,<br> + And siller roun your wa;<br> + I'll gar ye shine as fair a bird<br> + As ony o them a'."</p> + +<p> But she hadnae these words well spoke,<br> + Nor yet these words well said,<br> + Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the tower<br> + And lighted on her head.</p> + +<p> Then she has brought this pretty bird<br> + Hame to her bowers and ba,<br> + And made him shine as fair a bird<br> + As ony o them a'.</p> + +<p> When day was gane, and night was come,<br> + About the evening tide,<br> + This lady spied a sprightly youth<br> + Stand straight up by her side.</p> + +<p> "From whence came ye, young man?" she said;<br> + "That does surprise me sair;<br> + My door was bolted right secure,<br> + What way hae ye come here?"</p> + +<p> "O had your tongue, ye lady fair,<br> + Lat a' your folly be;<br> + Mind ye not on your turtle-doo<br> + Last day ye brought wi thee?"</p> + +<p> "O tell me mair, young man," she said,<br> + "This does surprise me now;<br> + What country hae ye come frae?<br> + What pedigree are you?"</p> + +<p> "My mither lives on foreign isles,<br> + She has nae mair but me;<br> + She is a queen o wealth and state,<br> + And birth and high degree.</p> + +<p> "Likewise well skilld in magic spells,<br> + As ye may plainly see,<br> + And she transformd me to yon shape,<br> + To charm such maids as thee.</p> + +<p> "I am a doo the live-lang day,<br> + A sprightly youth at night;<br> + This aye gars me appear mair fair<br> + In a fair maiden's sight.</p> + +<p> "And it was but this verra day<br> + That I came ower the sea;<br> + Your lovely face did me enchant;<br> + I'll live and dee wi thee."</p> + +<p> "O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,<br> + Nae mair frae me ye 'se gae;<br> + That's never my intent, my luve,<br> + As ye said, it shall be sae."</p> + +<p> "O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,<br> + It's time to gae to bed;"<br> + "Wi a' my heart, my dear marrow,<br> + It's be as ye hae said."</p> + +<p> Then he has staid in bower wi her<br> + For sax lang years and ane,<br> + Till sax young sons to him she bare,<br> + And the seventh she's brought hame.</p> + +<p> But aye as ever a child was born<br> + He carried them away,<br> + And brought them to his mither's care,<br> + As fast as he coud fly.</p> + +<p> Thus he has staid in bower wi her<br> + For twenty years and three;<br> + There came a lord o high renown<br> + To court this fair ladie.</p> + +<p> But still his proffer she refused,<br> + And a' his presents too;<br> + Says, I'm content to live alane<br> + Wi my bird, Cow-me-doo.</p> + +<p> Her father sware a solemn oath<br> + Amang the nobles all,<br> + "The morn, or ere I eat or drink,<br> + This bird I will gar kill."</p> + +<p> The bird was sitting in his cage,<br> + And heard what they did say;<br> + And when he found they were dismist,<br> + Says, Wae's me for this day!</p> + +<p> "Before that I do langer stay,<br> + And thus to be forlorn,<br> + I'll gang unto my mither's bower,<br> + Where I was bred and born."</p> + +<p> Then Cow-me-doo took flight and flew<br> + Beyond the raging sea,<br> + And lighted near his mither's castle,<br> + On a tower o gowd sae hie.</p> + +<p> As his mither was wauking out,<br> + To see what she coud see,<br> + And there she saw her little son,<br> + Set on the tower sae hie.</p> + +<p> "Get dancers here to dance," she said,<br> + "And minstrells for to play;<br> + For here's my young son, Florentine,<br> + Come here wi me to stay."</p> + +<p> "Get nae dancers to dance, mither,<br> + Nor minstrells for to play,<br> + For the mither o my seven sons,<br> + The morn's her wedding-day."</p> + +<p> "O tell me, tell me, Florentine,<br> + Tell me, and tell me true,<br> + Tell me this day without a flaw,<br> + What I will do for you."</p> + +<p> "Instead of dancers to dance, mither,<br> + Or minstrells for to play,<br> + Turn four-and-twenty wall-wight men<br> + Like storks in feathers gray;</p> + +<p> "My seven sons in seven swans,<br> + Aboon their heads to flee;<br> + And I mysell a gay gos-hawk,<br> + A bird o high degree."</p> + +<p> Then sichin said the queen hersell,<br> + "That thing's too high for me;"<br> + But she applied to an auld woman,<br> + Who had mair skill than she.</p> + +<p> Instead o dancers to dance a dance,<br> + Or minstrells for to play,<br> + Four-and-twenty wall-wight men<br> + Turnd birds o feathers gray;</p> + +<p> Her seven sons in seven swans,<br> + Aboon their heads to flee;<br> + And he himsell a gay gos-hawk,<br> + A bird o high degree.</p> + +<p> This flock o birds took flight and flew<br> + Beyond the raging sea,<br> + And landed near the Earl Mar's castle,<br> + Took shelter in every tree.</p> + +<p> They were a flock o pretty birds,<br> + Right comely to be seen;<br> + The people viewed them wi surprise,<br> + As they dancd on the green.</p> + +<p> These birds ascended frae the tree<br> + And lighted on the ha,<br> + And at the last wi force did flee<br> + Amang the nobles a'.</p> + +<p> The storks there seized some o the men,<br> + They coud neither fight nor flee;<br> + The swans they bound the bride's best man<br> + Below a green aik tree.</p> + +<p> They lighted next on maidens fair,<br> + Then on the bride's own head,<br> + And wi the twinkling o an ee<br> + The bride and them were fled.</p> + +<p> There's ancient men at weddings been<br> + For sixty years or more,<br> + But sic a curious wedding-day<br> + They never saw before.</p> + +<p> For naething coud the companie do.<br> + Nor naething coud they say<br> + But they saw a flock o pretty birds<br> + That took their bride away.</p> + +<p> When that Earl Mar he came to know<br> + Where his dochter did stay,<br> + He signd a bond o unity,<br> + And visits now they pay.</p> + +<img alt="249.jpg (26K)" src="images/249.jpg" height="394" width="446"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap32">EDWARD, EDWARD</a></h2> +<img alt="250.jpg (98K)" src="images/250.jpg" height="521" width="754"> +<br><br> + +<p> Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid,<br> + Edward, Edward?<br> + Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid?<br> + And quhy sae sad gang zee, O?<br> + O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid,<br> + Mither, mither:<br> + O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid:<br> + And I had nae mair bot hee, O.</p> + +<p> Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,<br> + Edward, Edward.<br> + Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,<br> + My deir son I tell thee, O.<br> + O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,<br> + Mither, mither:<br> + O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,<br> + That erst was sae fair and free, O.</p> + +<p> Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,<br> + Edward, Edward;<br> + Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,<br> + Sum other dule ze drie, O.<br> + O, I hae killed my fadir deir,<br> + Mither, mither:<br> + O, I hae killed my fadir deir,<br> + Alas! and wae is mee, O!</p> + +<p> And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that,<br> + Edward, Edward?<br> + And quhatten penance will ze drie for that?<br> + My deir son, now tell mee, O.<br> + He set my feit in zonder boat,<br> + Mither, mither:<br> + He set my feit in zonder boat,<br> + And He fare ovir the sea, O.</p> + +<p> And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha',<br> + Edward, Edward?<br> + And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha',<br> + That were sae fair to see, O?<br> + He let thame stand til they doun fa',<br> + Mither, mither:<br> + He let thame stand til they doun fa',<br> + For here nevir mair maun I bee, O.</p> + +<p> And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife,<br> + Edward, Edward?<br> + And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife,<br> + Quhan ze gang ovir the sea, O?<br> + The warldis room, let thame beg throw life,<br> + Mither, mither;<br> + The warldis room, let thame beg throw life,<br> + For thame nevir mair wul I see, O.</p> + +<p> And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir,<br> + Edward, Edward?<br> + And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir?<br> + My deir son, now tell me, O.<br> + The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir,<br> + Mither, mither:<br> + The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir,<br> + Sic counseils ze gave to me, O.</p> + + +<img alt="252.jpg (31K)" src="images/252.jpg" height="314" width="408"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap33">KING LEIR & HIS THREE DAUGHTERS</a></h2> +<img alt="253.jpg (112K)" src="images/253.jpg" height="603" width="780"> +<br><br> + +<p> King Leir once ruled in this land<br> + With princely power and peace;<br> + And had all things with hearts content,<br> + That might his joys increase.<br> + Amongst those things that nature gave,<br> + Three daughters fair had he,<br> + So princely seeming beautiful,<br> + As fairer could not be.</p> + +<p> So on a time it pleas'd the king<br> + A question thus to move,<br> + Which of his daughters to his grace<br> + Could shew the dearest love:<br> + For to my age you bring content,<br> + Quoth he, then let me hear,<br> + Which of you three in plighted troth<br> + The kindest will appear.</p> + +<p> To whom the eldest thus began;<br> + Dear father, mind, quoth she,<br> + Before your face, to do you good,<br> + My blood shall render'd be:<br> + And for your sake my bleeding heart<br> + Shall here be cut in twain,<br> + Ere that I see your reverend age<br> + The smallest grief sustain.</p> + +<p> And so will I, the second said;<br> + Dear father, for your sake,<br> + The worst of all extremities<br> + I'll gently undertake:<br> + And serve your highness night and day<br> + With diligence and love;<br> + That sweet content and quietness<br> + Discomforts may remove.</p> + +<p> In doing so, you glad my soul,<br> + The aged king reply'd;<br> + But what sayst thou, my youngest girl,<br> + How is thy love ally'd?<br> + My love (quoth young Cordelia then)<br> + Which to your grace I owe,<br> + Shall be the duty of a child,<br> + And that is all I'll show.</p> + +<p> And wilt thou shew no more, quoth he,<br> + Than doth thy duty bind?<br> + I well perceive thy love is small,<br> + When as no more I find.<br> + Henceforth I banish thee my court,<br> + Thou art no child of mine;<br> + Nor any part of this my realm<br> + By favour shall be thine.</p> + +<p> Thy elder sisters loves are more<br> + Then well I can demand,<br> + To whom I equally bestow<br> + My kingdome and my land,<br> + My pompal state and all my goods,<br> + That lovingly I may<br> + With those thy sisters be maintain'd<br> + Until my dying day.</p> + +<p> Thus flattering speeches won renown,<br> + By these two sisters here;<br> + The third had causeless banishment,<br> + Yet was her love more dear:<br> + For poor Cordelia patiently<br> + Went wandring up and down,<br> + Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,<br> + Through many an English town:</p> + +<p> Untill at last in famous France<br> + She gentler fortunes found;<br> + Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd<br> + The fairest on the ground:<br> + Where when the king her virtues heard,<br> + And this fair lady seen,<br> + With full consent of all his court<br> + He made his wife and queen.</p> + +<p> Her father king Leir this while<br> + With his two daughters staid:<br> + Forgetful of their promis'd loves,<br> + Full soon the same decay'd;<br> + And living in queen Ragan's court,<br> + The eldest of the twain,<br> + She took from him his chiefest means,<br> + And most of all his train.</p> + +<p> For whereas twenty men were wont<br> + To wait with bended knee:<br> + She gave allowance but to ten,<br> + And after scarce to three;<br> + Nay, one she thought too much for him;<br> + So took she all away,<br> + In hope that in her court, good king,<br> + He would no longer stay.</p> + +<p> Am I rewarded thus, quoth he,<br> + In giving all I have<br> + Unto my children, and to beg<br> + For what I lately gave?<br> + I'll go unto my Gonorell:<br> + My second child, I know,<br> + Will be more kind and pitiful,<br> + And will relieve my woe.</p> + +<p> Full fast he hies then to her court;<br> + Where when she heard his moan<br> + Return'd him answer, That she griev'd<br> + That all his means were gone:<br> + But no way could relieve his wants;<br> + Yet if that he would stay<br> + Within her kitchen, he should have<br> + What scullions gave away.</p> + +<p> When he had heard, with bitter tears,<br> + He made his answer then;<br> + In what I did let me be made<br> + Example to all men.<br> + I will return again, quoth he,<br> + Unto my Ragan's court;<br> + She will not use me thus, I hope,<br> + But in a kinder sort.</p> + +<p> Where when he came, she gave command<br> + To drive him thence away:<br> + When he was well within her court<br> + (She said) he would not stay.<br> + Then back again to Gonorell<br> + The woeful king did hie,<br> + That in her kitchen he might have<br> + What scullion boy set by.</p> + +<p> But there of that he was deny'd,<br> + Which she had promis'd late:<br> + For once refusing, he should not<br> + Come after to her gate.<br> + Thus twixt his daughters, for relief<br> + He wandred up and down;<br> + Being glad to feed on beggars food,<br> + That lately wore a crown.</p> + +<p> And calling to remembrance then<br> + His youngest daughters words,<br> + That said the duty of a child<br> + Was all that love affords:<br> + But doubting to repair to her,<br> + Whom he had banish'd so,<br> + Grew frantick mad; for in his mind<br> + He bore the wounds of woe:</p> + +<p> Which made him rend his milk-white locks,<br> + And tresses from his head,<br> + And all with blood bestain his cheeks,<br> + With age and honour spread.<br> + To hills and woods and watry founts<br> + He made his hourly moan,<br> + Till hills and woods and sensless things,<br> + Did seem to sigh and groan.</p> + +<p> Even thus possest with discontents,<br> + He passed o're to France,<br> + In hopes from fair Cordelia there,<br> + To find some gentler chance;<br> + Most virtuous dame! which when she heard,<br> + Of this her father's grief,<br> + As duty bound, she quickly sent<br> + Him comfort and relief:<br> + And by a train of noble peers,<br> + In brave and gallant sort,<br> + She gave in charge he should be brought<br> + To Aganippus' court;<br> + Whose royal king, with noble mind<br> + So freely gave consent,<br> + To muster up his knights at arms,<br> + To fame and courage bent.</p> + +<p> And so to England came with speed,<br> + To repossesse king Leir<br> + And drive his daughters from their thrones<br> + By his Cordelia dear.<br> + Where she, true-hearted noble queen,<br> + Was in the battel slain;<br> + Yet he, good king, in his old days,<br> + Possest his crown again.</p> + +<p> But when he heard Cordelia's death,<br> + Who died indeed for love<br> + Of her dear father, in whose cause<br> + She did this battle move;<br> + He swooning fell upon her breast,<br> + From whence he never parted:<br> + But on her bosom left his life,<br> + That was so truly hearted.</p> + +<p> The lords and nobles when they saw<br> + The end of these events,<br> + The other sisters unto death<br> + They doomed by consents;<br> + And being dead, their crowns they left<br> + Unto the next of kin:<br> + Thus have you seen the fall of pride,<br> + And disobedient sin.</p> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap34">HYND HORN</a></h2> +<img alt="261.jpg (111K)" src="images/261.jpg" height="559" width="821"> +<br><br> +<a name="hynd"></a> +<img alt="hynd.jpg (159K)" src="images/hynd.jpg" height="1007" width="750"> + + +<p> "Hynde Horn's bound, love, and Hynde Horn's free;<br> + Whare was ye born? or frae what cuntrie?"</p> + +<p> "In gude greenwud whare I was born,<br> + And all my friends left me forlorn.</p> + +<p> "I gave my love a gay gowd wand,<br> + That was to rule oure all Scotland.</p> + +<p> "My love gave me a silver ring,<br> + That was to rule abune aw thing.</p> + +<p> "Whan that ring keeps new in hue,<br> + Ye may ken that your love loves you.</p> + +<p> "Whan that ring turns pale and wan,<br> + Ye may ken that your love loves anither man."</p> + +<p> He hoisted up his sails, and away sailed he<br> + Till he cam to a foreign cuntree.</p> + +<p> Whan he lookit to his ring, it was turnd pale and wan;<br> + Says, I wish I war at hame again.</p> + +<p> He hoisted up his sails, and hame sailed he<br> + Until he cam till his ain cuntree.</p> + +<p> The first ane that he met with,<br> + It was with a puir auld beggar-man.</p> + +<p> "What news? what news, my puir auld man?<br> + What news hae ye got to tell to me?"</p> + +<p> "Na news, na news," the puir man did say,<br> + "But this is our queen's wedding-day."</p> + +<p> "Ye'll lend me your begging-weed,<br> + And I'll lend you my riding-steed."<br> + "My begging-weed is na for thee,<br> + Your riding-steed is na for me."</p> + +<p> He has changed wi the puir auld beggar-man.</p> + +<p> "What is the way that ye use to gae?<br> + And what are the words that ye beg wi?"</p> + +<p> "Whan ye come to yon high hill,<br> + Ye'll draw your bent bow nigh until.</p> + +<p> "Whan ye come to yon town-end,<br> + Ye'll lat your bent bow low fall doun.</p> + +<p> "Ye'll seek meat for St Peter, ask for St Paul,<br> + And seek for the sake of your Hynde Horn all.</p> + +<p> "But tak ye frae nane o them aw<br> + Till ye get frae the bonnie bride hersel O."</p> + +<p> Whan he cam to yon high hill,<br> + He drew his bent bow nigh until.</p> + +<p> And when he cam to yon toun-end,<br> + He loot his bent bow low fall doun.</p> + +<p> He sought for St Peter, he askd for St Paul,<br> + And he sought for the sake of his Hynde Horn all.</p> + +<p> But he took na frae ane o them aw<br> + Till he got frae the bonnie bride hersel O.</p> + +<p> The bride cam tripping doun the stair,<br> + Wi the scales o red gowd on her hair.</p> + +<p> Wi a glass o red wine in her hand,<br> + To gie to the puir beggar-man.</p> + +<p> Out he drank his glass o wine,<br> + Into it he dropt the ring.</p> + +<p> "Got ye't by sea, or got ye't by land,<br> + Or got ye't aff a drownd man's hand?"</p> + +<p> "I got na't by sea, I got na't by land,<br> + Nor gat I it aff a drownd man's hand;</p> + +<p> "But I got it at my wooing,<br> + And I'll gie it to your wedding."</p> + +<p> "I'll tak the scales o gowd frae my head,<br> + I'll follow you, and beg my bread.</p> + +<p> "I'll tak the scales o gowd frae my hair,<br> + I'll follow you for evermair."</p> + +<p> She has tane the scales o gowd frae her head,<br> + She's followed him, to beg her bread.</p> + +<p> She has tane the scales o gowd frae her hair,<br> + And she has followd him evermair.</p> + +<p> Atween the kitchen and the ha,<br> + There he loot his cloutie cloak fa.</p> + +<p> The red gowd shined oure them aw,<br> + And the bride frae the bridegroom was stown awa.</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap35">JOHN BROWN'S BODY</a></h2> +<img alt="265.jpg (62K)" src="images/265.jpg" height="459" width="826"> +<br><br> + +<p> Old John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave,<br> + Because he fought for Freedom and the stricken Negro slave;<br> + Old John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave,<br> + But his soul is marching on.</p> + +<p> <i>Chorus</i></p> + +<p> Glory, glory, Hallelujah!<br> + Glory, glory, Hallelujah!<br> + Glory, glory, Hallelujah!<br> + His soul is marching on.</p> + +<p> He was a noble martyr, was Old John Brown the true;<br> + His little patriot band into a noble army grew;<br> + He was a noble martyr, was Old John Brown the true,<br> + And his soul is marching on.</p> + +<p> 'Twas not till John Brown lost his life, arose in all its +might,<br> + The army of the Union men that won the fearful fight;<br> + But tho' the glad event, oh! it never met his sight,<br> + Still his soul is marching on.</p> + +<p> John Brown is now a soldier in that heavenly land above,<br> + Where live the happy spirits in their harmony and love,<br> + John Brown is now a soldier in that heavenly land above,<br> + And his soul is marching on.</p> + + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2> <a name="chap36">TIPPERARY</a></h2> +<img alt="267.jpg (73K)" src="images/267.jpg" height="413" width="780"> +<br><br> + +<p> Up to mighty London came an Irishman one day,<br> + As the streets are paved with gold, sure everyone was gay;<br> + Singing songs of Piccadilly, Strand and Leicester Square,<br> + Till Paddy got excited, then he shouted to them there:--</p> + +<p><i>Chorus</i></p> + +<p> "It's a long way to Tipperary,<br> + It's a long way to go;<br> + It's a long way to Tipperary,<br> + To the sweetest girl I know!<br> + Good-bye Piccadilly,<br> + Farewell, Leicester Square,<br> + It's a long, long way to Tipperary,<br> + But my heart's right there!"</p> + +<p> Paddy wrote a letter to his Irish Molly O',<br> + Saying, "Should you not receive it, write and let me know!<br> + "If I make mistakes in 'spelling,' Molly dear,' said he,<br> + "Remember it's the pen that's bad, don't lay the blame on +me."</p> + +<p> Molly wrote a neat reply to Irish Paddy O',<br> + Saying, "Mike Maloney wants to marry me, and so<br> + Leave the Strand and Piccadilly, or you'll be to blame,<br> + For love has fairly drove me silly--hoping you're the +same!"</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap37">THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON</a></h2> +<img alt="269.jpg (103K)" src="images/269.jpg" height="557" width="779"> +<br><br> +<a name="islington"></a> +<img alt="islington.jpg (150K)" src="images/islington.jpg" height="1013" width="750"> + +<p> There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe,<br> + And he was a squires son:<br> + He loved the bayliffes daughter deare,<br> + That lived in Islington.</p> + +<p> Yet she was coye, and would not believe<br> + That he did love her soe,<br> + Noe nor at any time would she<br> + Any countenance to him showe.</p> + +<p> But when his friendes did understand<br> + His fond and foolish minde,<br> + They sent him up to faire London<br> + An apprentice for to binde.</p> + +<p> And when he had been seven long yeares,<br> + And never his love could see:<br> + Many a teare have I shed for her sake,<br> + When she little thought of mee.</p> + +<p> Then all the maids of Islington<br> + Went forth to sport and playe,<br> + All but the bayliffes daughter deare;<br> + She secretly stole awaye.</p> + +<p> She pulled off her gowne of greene,<br> + And put on ragged attire,<br> + And to faire London she would goe<br> + Her true love to enquire.</p> + +<p> And as she went along the high road,<br> + The weather being hot and drye,<br> + She sat her downe upon a green bank,<br> + And her true love came riding bye.</p> + +<p> She started up, with a colour soe redd,<br> + Catching hold of his bridle-reine;<br> + One penny, one penny, kind Sir, she sayd,<br> + Will ease me of much paine.</p> + +<p> Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,<br> + Praye tell me where you were borne:<br> + At Islington, kind Sir, sayd shee,<br> + Where I have had many a scorne.</p> + +<p> I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee,<br> + O tell me, whether you knowe<br> + The bayliffes daughter of Islington:<br> + She is dead, Sir, long agoe.</p> + +<p> If she be dead, then take my horse,<br> + My saddle and bridle also;<br> + For I will into some far countrye,<br> + Where noe man shall me knowe.</p> + +<p> O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe,<br> + She standeth by thy side;<br> + She is here alive, she is not dead,<br> + And readye to be thy bride.</p> + +<p> O farewell griefe, and welcome joye,<br> + Ten thousand times therefore;<br> + For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,<br> + Whom I thought I should never see more.</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap38">THE THREE RAVENS</a></h2> +<img alt="272.jpg (71K)" src="images/272.jpg" height="430" width="786"> +<br><br> + +<a name="ravens"></a> +<img alt="ravens.jpg (150K)" src="images/ravens.jpg" height="992" width="750"> + +<p> There were three rauens sat on a tree,<br> + Downe a downe, hay down, hay downe<br> + There were three rauens sat on a tree,<br> + With a downe<br> + There were three rauens sat on a tree,<br> + They were as blacke as they might be<br> + With a downe derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe</p> + +<p> The one of them said to his mate,<br> + "Where shall we our breakefast take?"</p> + +<p> "Downe in yonder greene field,<br> + There lies a knight slain vnder his shield.</p> + +<p> "His hounds they lie downe at his feete,<br> + So well they can their master keepe.</p> + +<p> "His haukes they flie so eagerly,<br> + There's no fowle dare him come nie."</p> + +<p> Downe there comes a fallow doe,<br> + As great with yong as she might goe.</p> + +<p> She lift up his bloudy hed,<br> + And kist his wounds that were so red.</p> + +<p> She got him up upon her backe,<br> + And carried him to earthen lake.</p> + +<p> She buried him before the prime,<br> + She was dead herselfe ere even-song time.</p> + +<p> God send every gentleman,<br> + Such haukes, such hounds, and such a leman.</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap39">THE GABERLUNZIE MAN</a></h2> +<img alt="274.jpg (114K)" src="images/274.jpg" height="544" width="778"> +<br><br> + +<p> The pauky auld Carle come ovir the lee<br> + Wi' mony good-eens and days to mee,<br> + Saying, Good wife, for zour courtesie,<br> + Will ze lodge a silly poor man?<br> + The night was cauld, the carle was wat,<br> + And down azont the ingle he sat;<br> + My dochtors shoulders he gan to clap,<br> + And cadgily ranted and sang.</p> + +<p> O wow! quo he, were I as free,<br> + As first when I saw this countrie,<br> + How blyth and merry wad I bee!<br> + And I wad nevir think lang.<br> + He grew canty, and she grew fain;<br> + But little did her auld minny ken<br> + What thir slee twa togither were say'n,<br> + When wooing they were sa thrang.</p> + +<p> And O! quo he, ann ze were as black,<br> + As evir the crown of your dadyes hat,<br> + Tis I wad lay thee by my backe,<br> + And awa wi' me thou sould gang.<br> + And O! quoth she, ann I were as white,<br> + As evir the snaw lay on the dike,<br> + Ild dead me braw, and lady-like,<br> + And awa with thee Ild gang.</p> + +<p> Between them twa was made a plot;<br> + They raise a wee before the cock,<br> + And wyliely they shot the lock,<br> + And fast to the bent are they gane.<br> + Up the morn the auld wife raise,<br> + And at her leisure put on her claiths,<br> + Syne to the servants bed she gaes<br> + To speir for the silly poor man.</p> + +<p> She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay,<br> + The strae was cauld, he was away,<br> + She clapt her hands, cryd, Dulefu' day!<br> + For some of our geir will be gane.<br> + Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,<br> + But nought was stown that could be mist.<br> + She dancid her lane, cryd, Praise be blest,<br> + I have lodgd a leal poor man.</p> + +<p> Since naithings awa, as we can learn,<br> + The kirns to kirn, and milk to earn,<br> + Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn,<br> + And bid her come quickly ben.<br> + The servant gaed where the dochter lay,<br> + The sheets was cauld, she was away,<br> + And fast to her goodwife can say,<br> + Shes aff with the gaberlunzie-man.</p> + +<p> O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin,<br> + And haste ze, find these traitors agen;<br> + For shees be burnt, and hees be slein,<br> + The wearyfou gaberlunzie-man.<br> + Some rade upo horse, some ran a fit<br> + The wife was wood, and out o' her wit;<br> + She could na gang, nor yet could sit,<br> + But ay did curse and did ban.</p> + +<p> Mean time far hind out owre the lee,<br> + For snug in a glen, where nane could see,<br> + The twa, with kindlie sport and glee<br> + Cut frae a new cheese a whang.<br> + The priving was gude, it pleas'd them baith,<br> + To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith.<br> + Quo she, to leave thee, I will laith,<br> + My winsome gaberlunzie-man.</p> + +<p> O kend my minny I were wi' zou,<br> + Illfardly wad she crook her mou,<br> + Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow,<br> + Aftir the gaberlunzie-mon.<br> + My dear, quo he, zee're zet owre zonge;<br> + And hae na learnt the beggars tonge,<br> + To follow me frae toun to toun,<br> + And carrie the gaberlunzie on.</p> + +<p> Wi' kauk and keel, Ill win zour bread,<br> + And spindles and whorles for them wha need,<br> + Whilk is a gentil trade indeed<br> + The gaberlunzie to carrie--o.<br> + Ill bow my leg and crook my knee,<br> + And draw a black clout owre my ee,<br> + A criple or blind they will cau me:<br> + While we sail sing and be merrie--o.</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap40">THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL</a></h2> +<img alt="278.jpg (121K)" src="images/278.jpg" height="552" width="772"> +<br><br> +<a name="usher"></a> +<img alt="usher.jpg (140K)" src="images/usher.jpg" height="1028" width="750"> + +<p> There lived a wife at Usher's Well,<br> + And a wealthy wife was she;<br> + She had three stout and stalwart sons,<br> + And sent them oer the sea.</p> + +<p> They hadna been a week from her,<br> + A week but barely ane,<br> + Whan word came to the carline wife<br> + That her three sons were gane.</p> + +<p> They hadna been a week from her,<br> + A week but barely three,<br> + Whan word came to the carlin wife<br> + That her sons she'd never see.</p> + +<p> "I wish the wind may never cease,<br> + Nor fashes in the flood,<br> + Till my three sons come hame to me,<br> + In earthly flesh and blood."</p> + +<p> It fell about the Martinmass,<br> + When nights are lang and mirk,<br> + The carlin wife's three sons came hame,<br> + And their hats were o the birk.</p> + +<p> It neither grew in syke nor ditch,<br> + Nor yet in ony sheugh;<br> + But at the gates o Paradise,<br> + That birk grew fair eneugh.</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> "Blow up the fire, my maidens,<br> + Bring water from the well;<br> + For a' my house shall feast this night,<br> + Since my three sons are well."</p> + +<p> And she has made to them a bed,<br> + She's made it large and wide,<br> + And she's taen her mantle her about,<br> + Sat down at the bed-side.</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> Up then crew the red, red cock,<br> + And up and crew the gray;<br> + The eldest to the youngest said,<br> + 'Tis time we were away.</p> + +<p> The cock he hadna crawd but once,<br> + And clappd his wings at a',<br> + When the youngest to the eldest said,<br> + Brother, we must awa.</p> + +<p> "The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,<br> + The channerin worm doth chide;<br> + Gin we be mist out o our place,<br> + A sair pain we maun bide.</p> + +<p> "Fare ye weel, my mother dear!<br> + Fareweel to barn and byre!<br> + And fare ye weel, the bonny lass<br> + That kindles my mother's fire!"</p> + +<img alt="280.jpg (10K)" src="images/280.jpg" height="392" width="285"> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap41">THE LYE</a></h2> +<img alt="281.jpg (96K)" src="images/281.jpg" height="419" width="795"> +<br><br> + +<p> Goe, soule, the bodies guest,<br> + Upon a thanklesse arrant;<br> + Feare not to touche the best,<br> + The truth shall be thy warrant:<br> + Goe, since I needs must dye,<br> + And give the world the lye.</p> + +<p> Goe tell the court, it glowes<br> + And shines like rotten wood;<br> + Goe tell the church it showes<br> + What's good, and doth no good:<br> + If church and court reply,<br> + Then give them both the lye.</p> + +<p> Tell potentates they live<br> + Acting by others actions;<br> + Not lov'd unlesse they give,<br> + Not strong but by their factions;<br> + If potentates reply,<br> + Give potentates the lye.</p> + +<p> Tell men of high condition,<br> + That rule affairs of state,<br> + Their purpose is ambition,<br> + Their practise onely hate;<br> + And if they once reply,<br> + Then give them all the lye.</p> + +<p> Tell them that brave it most,<br> + They beg for more by spending,<br> + Who in their greatest cost<br> + Seek nothing but commending;<br> + And if they make reply,<br> + Spare not to give the lye.</p> + +<p> Tell zeale, it lacks devotion;<br> + Tell love, it is but lust;<br> + Tell time, it is but motion;<br> + Tell flesh, it is but dust;<br> + And wish them not reply,<br> + For thou must give the lye.</p> + +<p> Tell age, it daily wasteth;<br> + Tell honour, how it alters:<br> + Tell beauty, how she blasteth;<br> + Tell favour, how she falters;<br> + And as they shall reply,<br> + Give each of them the lye.</p> + +<p> Tell wit, how much it wrangles<br> + In tickle points of nicenesse;<br> + Tell wisedome, she entangles<br> + Herselfe in over-wisenesse;<br> + And if they do reply,<br> + Straight give them both the lye.</p> + +<p> Tell physicke of her boldnesse;<br> + Tell skill, it is pretension;<br> + Tell charity of coldness;<br> + Tell law, it is contention;<br> + And as they yield reply,<br> + So give them still the lye.</p> + +<p> Tell fortune of her blindnesse;<br> + Tell nature of decay;<br> + Tell friendship of unkindnesse;<br> + Tell justice of delay:<br> + And if they dare reply,<br> + Then give them all the lye.</p> + +<p> Tell arts, they have no soundnesse,<br> + But vary by esteeming;<br> + Tell schooles, they want profoundnesse;<br> + And stand too much on seeming:<br> + If arts and schooles reply.<br> + Give arts and schooles the lye.</p> + +<p> Tell faith, it's fled the citie;<br> + Tell how the countrey erreth;<br> + Tell, manhood shakes off pitie;<br> + Tell, vertue least preferreth:<br> + And, if they doe reply,<br> + Spare not to give the lye.</p> + +<p> So, when thou hast, as I<br> + Commanded thee, done blabbing,<br> + Although to give the lye<br> + Deserves no less than stabbing,<br> + Yet stab at thee who will,<br> + No stab the soule can kill.</p> + + +<br><br><br><br><br><br> +<h2><a name="chap42">THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL</a></h2> +<img alt="285.jpg (52K)" src="images/285.jpg" height="367" width="783"> +<br><br> + +<p>I.</p> + +<p> He did not wear his scarlet coat,<br> + For blood and wine are red,<br> + And blood and wine were on his hands<br> + When they found him with the dead,<br> + The poor dead woman whom he loved,<br> + And murdered in her bed.</p> + +<p> He walked amongst the Trial Men<br> + In a suit of shabby grey;<br> + A cricket cap was on his head,<br> + And his step seemed light and gay;<br> + But I never saw a man who looked<br> + So wistfully at the day.</p> + +<p> I never saw a man who looked<br> + With such a wistful eye<br> + Upon that little tent of blue<br> + Which prisoners call the sky,<br> + And at every drifting cloud that went<br> + With sails of silver by.</p> + +<p> I walked, with other souls in pain,<br> + Within another ring,<br> + And was wondering if the man had done<br> + A great or little thing,<br> + When a voice behind me whispered low,<br> + <i>"That fellow's got to swing."</i></p> + +<p> Dear Christ! the very prison walls<br> + Suddenly seemed to reel,<br> + And the sky above my head became<br> + Like a casque of scorching steel;<br> + And, though I was a soul in pain,<br> + My pain I could not feel.</p> + +<p> I only knew what hunted thought<br> + Quickened his step, and why<br> + He looked upon the garish day<br> + With such a wistful eye;<br> + The man had killed the thing he loved,<br> + And so he had to die.</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> Yet each man kills the thing he loves,<br> + By each let this be heard,<br> + Some do it with a bitter look,<br> + Some with a flattering word.<br> + The coward does it with a kiss,<br> + The brave man with a sword!</p> + +<p> Some kill their love when they are young,<br> + And some when they are old;<br> + Some strangle with the hands of Lust,<br> + Some with the hands of Gold:<br> + The kindest use a knife, because<br> + The dead so soon grow cold.</p> + +<p> Some love too little, some too long,<br> + Some sell, and others buy;<br> + Some do the deed with many tears,<br> + And some without a sigh:<br> + For each man kills the thing he loves,<br> + Yet each man does not die.</p> + +<p> He does not die a death of shame<br> + On a day of dark disgrace,<br> + Nor have a noose about his neck,<br> + Nor a cloth upon his face,<br> + Nor drop feet foremost through the floor<br> + Into an empty space.</p> + +<p> He does not sit with silent men<br> + Who watch him night and day;<br> + Who watch him when he tries to weep,<br> + And when he tries to pray;<br> + Who watch him lest himself should rob<br> + The prison of its prey.</p> + +<p> He does not wake at dawn to see<br> + Dread figures throng his room,<br> + The shivering Chaplain robed in white,<br> + The Sheriff stern with gloom,<br> + And the Governor all in shiny black,<br> + With the yellow face of Doom.</p> + +<p> He does not rise in piteous haste<br> + To put on convict-clothes,<br> + While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes<br> + Each new and nerve-twitched pose,<br> + Fingering a watch whose little ticks<br> + Are like horrible hammer-blows.</p> + +<p> He does not feel that sickening thirst<br> + That sands one's throat, before<br> + The hangman with his gardener's gloves<br> + Comes through the padded door,<br> + And binds one with three leathern thongs,<br> + That the throat may thirst no more.</p> + +<p> He does not bend his head to hear<br> + The Burial Office read,<br> + Nor, while the anguish of his soul<br> + Tells him he is not dead,<br> + Cross his own coffin, as he moves<br> + Into the hideous shed.</p> + +<p> He does not stare upon the air<br> + Through a little roof of glass:<br> + He does not pray with lips of clay<br> + For his agony to pass;<br> + Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek<br> + The kiss of Caiaphas.</p> + +<p>II</p> + +<p> Six weeks the guardsman walked the yard<br> + In the suit of shabby grey:<br> + His cricket cap was on his head,<br> + And his step seemed light and gay,<br> + But I never saw a man who looked<br> + So wistfully at the day.</p> + +<p> I never saw a man who looked<br> + With such a wistful eye<br> + Upon that little tent of blue<br> + Which prisoners call the sky,<br> + And at every wandering cloud that trailed<br> + Its ravelled fleeces by.</p> + +<p> He did not wring his hands, as do<br> + Those witless men who dare<br> + To try to rear the changeling<br> + In the cave of black Despair:<br> + He only looked upon the sun,<br> + And drank the morning air.</p> + +<p> He did not wring his hands nor weep,<br> + Nor did he peek or pine,<br> + But he drank the air as though it held<br> + Some healthful anodyne;<br> + With open mouth he drank the sun<br> + As though it had been wine!</p> + +<p> And I and all the souls in pain,<br> + Who tramped the other ring,<br> + Forgot if we ourselves had done<br> + A great or little thing,<br> + And watched with gaze of dull amaze<br> + The man who had to swing.</p> + +<p> For strange it was to see him pass<br> + With a step so light and gay,<br> + And strange it was to see him look<br> + So wistfully at the day,<br> + And strange it was to think that he<br> + Had such a debt to pay.</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> For oak and elm have pleasant leaves<br> + That in the spring-time shoot:<br> + But grim to see is the gallows-tree,<br> + With its adder-bitten root,<br> + And, green or dry, a man must die<br> + Before it bears its fruit!</p> + +<p> The loftiest place is that seat of grace<br> + For which all worldlings try:<br> + But who would stand in hempen band<br> + Upon a scaffold high,<br> + And through a murderer's collar take<br> + His last look at the sky?</p> + +<p> It is sweet to dance to violins<br> + When Love and Life are fair:<br> + To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes<br> + Is delicate and rare:<br> + But it is not sweet with nimble feet<br> + To dance upon the air!</p> + +<p> So with curious eyes and sick surmise<br> + We watched him day by day,<br> + And wondered if each one of us<br> + Would end the self-same way,<br> + For none can tell to what red Hell<br> + His sightless soul may stray.</p> + +<p> At last the dead man walked no more<br> + Amongst the Trial Men,<br> + And I knew that he was standing up<br> + In the black dock's dreadful pen,<br> + And that never would I see his face<br> + For weal or woe again.</p> + +<p> Like two doomed ships that pass in storm<br> + We had crossed each other's way:<br> + But we made no sign, we said no word,<br> + We had no word to say;<br> + For we did not meet in the holy night,<br> + But in the shameful day.</p> + +<p> A prison wall was round us both,<br> + Two outcast men we were:<br> + The world had thrust us from its heart,<br> + And God from out His care:<br> + And the iron gin that waits for Sin<br> + Had caught us in its snare.</p> + +<p>III.</p> + +<p> In Debtors' Yard the stones are hard,<br> + And the dripping wall is high,<br> + So it was there he took the air<br> + Beneath the leaden sky,<br> + And by each side a Warder walked,<br> + For fear the man might die.</p> + +<p> Or else he sat with those who watched<br> + His anguish night and day;<br> + Who watched him when he rose to weep,<br> + And when he crouched to pray;<br> + Who watched him lest himself should rob<br> + Their scaffold of its prey.</p> + +<p> The Governor was strong upon<br> + The Regulations Act:<br> + The Doctor said that Death was but<br> + A scientific fact:<br> + And twice a day the Chaplain called,<br> + And left a little tract.</p> + +<p> And twice a day he smoked his pipe,<br> + And drank his quart of beer:<br> + His soul was resolute, and held<br> + No hiding-place for fear;<br> + He often said that he was glad<br> + The hangman's day was near.</p> + +<p> But why he said so strange a thing<br> + No warder dared to ask:<br> + For he to whom a watcher's doom<br> + Is given as his task,<br> + Must set a lock upon his lips<br> + And make his face a mask.</p> + +<p> Or else he might be moved, and try<br> + To comfort or console:<br> + And what should Human Pity do<br> + Pent up in Murderer's Hole?<br> + What word of grace in such a place<br> + Could help a brother's soul?</p> + +<p> With slouch and swing around the ring<br> + We trod the Fools' Parade!<br> + We did not care: we knew we were<br> + The Devil's Own Brigade:<br> + And shaven head and feet of lead<br> + Make a merry masquerade.</p> + +<p> We tore the tarry rope to shreds<br> + With blunt and bleeding nails;<br> + We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors,<br> + And cleaned the shining rails:<br> + And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank,<br> + And clattered with the pails.</p> + +<p> We sewed the sacks, we broke the stones,<br> + We turned the dusty drill:<br> + We banged the tins, and bawled the hymns,<br> + And sweated on the mill:<br> + But in the heart of every man<br> + Terror was lying still.</p> + +<p> So still it lay that every day<br> + Crawled like a weed-clogged wave:<br> + And we forgot the bitter lot<br> + That waits for fool and knave,<br> + Till once, as we tramped in from work,<br> + We passed an open grave.</p> + +<p> With yawning mouth the yellow hole<br> + Gaped for a living thing;<br> + The very mud cried out for blood<br> + To the thirsty asphalte ring:<br> + And we knew that ere one dawn grew fair<br> + Some prisoner had to swing.</p> + +<p> Right in we went, with soul intent<br> + On Death and Dread and Doom:<br> + The hangman, with his little bag,<br> + Went shuffling through the gloom:<br> + And I trembled as I groped my way<br> + Into my numbered tomb.</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> That night the empty corridors<br> + Were full of forms of Fear,<br> + And up and down the iron town<br> + Stole feet we could not hear,<br> + And through the bars that hide the stars<br> + White faces seemed to peer.</p> + +<p> He lay as one who lies and dreams<br> + In a pleasant meadow-land,<br> + The watchers watched him as he slept,<br> + And could not understand<br> + How one could sleep so sweet a sleep<br> + With a hangman close at hand.</p> + +<p> But there is no sleep when men must weep<br> + Who never yet have wept:<br> + So we--the fool, the fraud, the knave--<br> + That endless vigil kept,<br> + And through each brain on hands of pain<br> + Another's terror crept.</p> + +<p> Alas! it is a fearful thing<br> + To feel another's guilt!<br> + For, right, within, the Sword of Sin<br> + Pierced to its poisoned hilt,<br> + And as molten lead were the tears we shed<br> + For the blood we had not spilt.</p> + +<p> The warders with their shoes of felt<br> + Crept by each padlocked door,<br> + And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe,<br> + Grey figures on the floor,<br> + And wondered why men knelt to pray<br> + Who never prayed before.</p> + +<p> All through the night we knelt and prayed,<br> + Mad mourners of a corse!<br> + The troubled plumes of midnight shook<br> + The plumes upon a hearse:<br> + And bitter wine upon a sponge<br> + Was the savour of Remorse.</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> The grey cock crew, the red cock crew,<br> + But never came the day:<br> + And crooked shapes of Terror crouched,<br> + In the corners where we lay:<br> + And each evil sprite that walks by night<br> + Before us seemed to play.</p> + +<p> They glided past, they glided fast,<br> + Like travellers through a mist:<br> + They mocked the moon in a rigadoon<br> + Of delicate turn and twist,<br> + And with formal pace and loathsome grace<br> + The phantoms kept their tryst.</p> + +<p> With mop and mow, we saw them go,<br> + Slim shadows hand in hand:<br> + About, about, in ghostly rout<br> + They trod a saraband:<br> + And the damned grotesques made arabesques,<br> + Like the wind upon the sand!</p> + +<p> With the pirouettes of marionettes,<br> + They tripped on pointed tread:<br> + But with flutes of Fear they filled the ear,<br> + As their grisly masque they led,<br> + And loud they sang, and long they sang,<br> + For they sang to wake the dead.</p> + +<p> <i>"Oho!" they cried, "The world is wide,<br> + But fettered limbs go lame!<br> + And once, or twice, to throw the dice<br> + Is a gentlemanly game,<br> + But he does not win who plays with Sin<br> + In the secret House of Shame."</i></p> + +<p> No things of air these antics were,<br> + That frolicked with such glee:<br> + To men whose lives were held in gyves,<br> + And whose feet might not go free,<br> + Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living things,<br> + Most terrible to see.</p> + +<p> Around, around, they waltzed and wound;<br> + Some wheeled in smirking pairs;<br> + With the mincing step of a demirep<br> + Some sidled up the stairs:<br> + And with subtle sneer, and fawning leer,<br> + Each helped us at our prayers.</p> + +<p> The morning wind began to moan,<br> + But still the night went on:<br> + Through its giant loom the web of gloom<br> + Crept till each thread was spun:<br> + And, as we prayed, we grew afraid<br> + Of the Justice of the Sun.</p> + +<p> The moaning wind went wandering round<br> + The weeping prison-wall:<br> + Till like a wheel of turning steel<br> + We felt the minutes crawl:<br> + O moaning wind! what had we done<br> + To have such a seneschal?</p> + +<p> At last I saw the shadowed bars,<br> + Like a lattice wrought in lead,<br> + Move right across the whitewashed wall<br> + That faced my three-plank bed,<br> + And I knew that somewhere in the world<br> + God's dreadful dawn was red.</p> + +<p> At six o'clock we cleaned our cells,<br> + At seven all was still,<br> + But the sough and swing of a mighty wing<br> + The prison seemed to fill,<br> + For the Lord of Death with icy breath<br> + Had entered in to kill.</p> + +<p> He did not pass in purple pomp,<br> + Nor ride a moon-white steed.<br> + Three yards of cord and a sliding board<br> + Are all the gallows' need:<br> + So with rope of shame the Herald came<br> + To do the secret deed.</p> + +<p> We were as men who through a fen<br> + Of filthy darkness grope:<br> + We did not dare to breathe a prayer,<br> + Or to give our anguish scope:<br> + Something was dead in each of us,<br> + And what was dead was Hope.</p> + +<p> For Man's grim Justice goes its way,<br> + And will not swerve aside:<br> + It slays the weak, it slays the strong,<br> + It has a deadly stride:<br> + With iron heel it slays the strong,<br> + The monstrous parricide!</p> + +<p> We waited for the stroke of eight:<br> + Each tongue was thick with thirst:<br> + For the stroke of eight is the stroke of Fate<br> + That makes a man accursed,<br> + And Fate will use a running noose<br> + For the best man and the worst.</p> + +<p> We had no other thing to do,<br> + Save to wait for the sign to come:<br> + So, like things of stone in a valley lone,<br> + Quiet we sat and dumb:<br> + But each man's heart beat thick and quick,<br> + Like a madman on a drum!</p> + +<p> With sudden shock the prison-clock<br> + Smote on the shivering air,<br> + And from all the gaol rose up a wail<br> + Of impotent despair,<br> + Like the sound that frightened marches hear<br> + From some leper in his lair.</p> + +<p> And as one sees most fearful things<br> + In the crystal of a dream,<br> + We saw the greasy hempen rope<br> + Hooked to the blackened beam,<br> + And heard the prayer the hangman's snare<br> + Strangled into a scream.</p> + +<p> And all the woe that moved him so<br> + That he gave that bitter cry,<br> + And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats,<br> + None knew so well as I:<br> + For he who lives more lives than one<br> + More deaths than one must die.</p> + +<p>IV</p> + +<p> There is no chapel on the day<br> + On which they hang a man:<br> + The Chaplain's heart is far too sick,<br> + Or his face is far too wan,<br> + Or there is that written in his eyes<br> + Which none should look upon.</p> + +<p> So they kept us close till nigh on noon,<br> + And then they rang the bell,<br> + And the warders with their jingling keys<br> + Opened each listening cell,<br> + And down the iron stair we tramped,<br> + Each from his separate Hell.</p> + +<p> Out into God's sweet air we went,<br> + But not in wonted way,<br> + For this man's face was white with fear,<br> + And that man's face was grey,<br> + And I never saw sad men who looked<br> + So wistfully at the day.</p> + +<p> I never saw sad men who looked<br> + With such a wistful eye<br> + Upon that little tent of blue<br> + We prisoners called the sky,<br> + And at every happy cloud that passed<br> + In such strange freedom by.</p> + +<p> But there were those amongst us all<br> + Who walked with downcast head,<br> + And knew that, had each got his due,<br> + They should have died instead:<br> + He had but killed a thing that lived,<br> + Whilst they had killed the dead.</p> + +<p> For he who sins a second time<br> + Wakes a dead soul to pain,<br> + And draws it from its spotted shroud,<br> + And makes it bleed again,<br> + And makes it bleed great gouts of blood,<br> + And makes it bleed in vain!</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> Like ape or clown, in monstrous garb<br> + With crooked arrows starred,<br> + Silently we went round and round<br> + The slippery asphalte yard;<br> + Silently we went round and round,<br> + And no man spoke a word.</p> + +<p> Silently we went round and round,<br> + And through each hollow mind<br> + The Memory of dreadful things<br> + Rushed like a dreadful wind,<br> + And Horror stalked before each man,<br> + And Terror crept behind.</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> The warders strutted up and down,<br> + And watched their herd of brutes,<br> + Their uniforms were spick and span,<br> + And they wore their Sunday suits,<br> + But we knew the work they had been at,<br> + By the quicklime on their boots.</p> + +<p> For where a grave had opened wide,<br> + There was no grave at all:<br> + Only a stretch of mud and sand<br> + By the hideous prison-wall,<br> + And a little heap of burning lime,<br> + That the man should have his pall.</p> + +<p> For he has a pall, this wretched man,<br> + Such as few men can claim:<br> + Deep down below a prison-yard,<br> + Naked for greater shame,<br> + He lies, with fetters on each foot,<br> + Wrapt in a sheet of flame!</p> + +<p> And all the while the burning lime<br> + Eats flesh and bone away,<br> + It eats the brittle bone by night,<br> + And the soft flesh by day,<br> + It eats the flesh and bone by turns,<br> + But it eats the heart alway.</p> + +<p> * * * *</p> + +<p> For three long years they will not sow<br> + Or root or seedling there:<br> + For three long years the unblessed spot<br> + Will sterile be and bare,<br> + And look upon the wondering sky<br> + With unreproachful stare.</p> + +<p> They think a murderer's heart would taint<br> + Each simple seed they sow.<br> + It is not true! God's kindly earth<br> + Is kindlier than men know,<br> + And the red rose would but blow more red,<br> + The white rose whiter blow.</p> + +<p> Out of his mouth a red, red rose!<br> + Out of his heart a white!<br> + For who can say by what strange way,<br> + Christ brings His will to light,<br> + Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore<br> + Bloomed in the great Pope's sight?</p> + +<p> But neither milk-white rose nor red<br> + May bloom in prison-air;<br> + The shard, the pebble, and the flint,<br> + Are what they give us there:<br> + For flowers have been known to heal<br> + A common man's despair.</p> + +<p> So never will wine-red rose or white,<br> + Petal by petal, fall<br> + On that stretch of mud and sand that lies<br> + By the hideous prison-wall,<br> + To tell the men who tramp the yard<br> + That God's Son died for all.</p> + +<p> Yet though the hideous prison-wall<br> + Still hems him round and round,<br> + And a spirit may not walk by night<br> + That is with fetters bound,<br> + And a spirit may but weep that lies<br> + In such unholy ground.</p> + +<p> He is at peace-this wretched man--<br> + At peace, or will be soon:<br> + There is no thing to make him mad,<br> + Nor does Terror walk at noon,<br> + For the lampless Earth in which he lies<br> + Has neither Sun nor Moon.</p> + +<p> They hanged him as a beast is hanged:<br> + They did not even toll<br> + A requiem that might have brought<br> + Rest to his startled soul,<br> + But hurriedly they took him out,<br> + And hid him in a hole.</p> + +<p> The warders stripped him of his clothes,<br> + And gave him to the flies:<br> + They mocked the swollen purple throat,<br> + And the stark and staring eyes:<br> + And with laughter loud they heaped the shroud<br> + In which the convict lies.</p> + +<p> The Chaplain would not kneel to pray<br> + By his dishonoured grave:<br> + Nor mark it with that blessed Cross<br> + That Christ for sinners gave,<br> + Because the man was one of those<br> + Whom Christ came down to save.</p> + +<p> Yet all is well; he has but passed<br> + To Life's appointed bourne:<br> + And alien tears will fill for him<br> + Pity's long-broken urn,<br> + For his mourners will be outcast men,<br> + And outcasts always mourn.</p> + +<p>V</p> + +<p> I know not whether Laws be right,<br> + Or whether Laws be wrong;<br> + All that we know who lie in gaol<br> + Is that the wall is strong;<br> + And that each day is like a year,<br> + A year whose days are long.</p> + +<p> But this I know, that every Law<br> + That men have made for Man,<br> + Since first Man took his brother's life,<br> + And the sad world began,<br> + But straws the wheat and saves the chaff<br> + With a most evil fan.</p> + +<p> This too I know--and wise it were<br> + If each could know the same--<br> + That every prison that men build<br> + Is built with bricks of shame,<br> + And bound with bars lest Christ should see<br> + How men their brothers maim.</p> + +<p> With bars they blur the gracious moon,<br> + And blind the goodly sun:<br> + And they do well to hide their Hell,<br> + For in it things are done<br> + That Son of God nor son of Man<br> + Ever should look upon!</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> The vilest deeds like poison weeds,<br> + Bloom well in prison-air;<br> + It is only what is good in Man<br> + That wastes and withers there:<br> + Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,<br> + And the Warder is Despair.</p> + +<p> For they starve the little frightened child<br> + Till it weeps both night and day:<br> + And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,<br> + And gibe the old and grey,<br> + And some grow mad, and all grow bad,<br> + And none a word may say.</p> + +<p> Each narrow cell in which we dwell<br> + Is a foul and dark latrine,<br> + And the fetid breath of living Death<br> + Chokes up each grated screen,<br> + And all, but Lust, is turned to dust<br> + In humanity's machine.</p> + +<p> The brackish water that we drink<br> + Creeps with a loathsome slime,<br> + And the bitter bread they weigh in scales<br> + Is full of chalk and lime,<br> + And Sleep will not lie down, but walks<br> + Wild-eyed, and cries to Time.</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> But though lean Hunger and green Thirst<br> + Like asp with adder fight,<br> + We have little care of prison fare,<br> + For what chills and kills outright<br> + Is that every stone one lifts by day<br> + Becomes one's heart by night.</p> + +<p> With midnight always in one's heart,<br> + And twilight in one's cell,<br> + We turn the crank, or tear the rope,<br> + Each in his separate Hell,<br> + And the silence is more awful far<br> + Than the sound of a brazen bell.</p> + +<p> And never a human voice comes near<br> + To speak a gentle word:<br> + And the eye that watches through the door<br> + Is pitiless and hard:<br> + And by all forgot, we rot and rot,<br> + With soul and body marred.</p> + +<p> And thus we rust Life's iron chain<br> + Degraded and alone:<br> + And some men curse and some men weep,<br> + And some men make no moan:<br> + But God's eternal Laws are kind<br> + And break the heart of stone.</p> + +<p> And every human heart that breaks,<br> + In prison-cell or yard,<br> + Is as that broken box that gave<br> + Its treasure to the Lord,<br> + And filled the unclean leper's house<br> + With the scent of costliest nard.</p> + +<p> Ah! happy they whose hearts can break<br> + And peace of pardon win!<br> + How else man may make straight his plan<br> + And cleanse his soul from Sin?<br> + How else but through a broken heart<br> + May Lord Christ enter in?</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p> And he of the swollen purple throat,<br> + And the stark and staring eyes,<br> + Waits for the holy hands that took<br> + The Thief to Paradise;<br> + And a broken and a contrite heart<br> + The Lord will not despise.</p> + +<p> The man in red who reads the Law<br> + Gave him three weeks of life,<br> + Three little weeks in which to heal His soul of his soul's +strife,<br> + And cleanse from every blot of blood<br> + The hand that held the knife.</p> + +<p> And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,<br> + The hand that held the steel:<br> + For only blood can wipe out blood,<br> + And only tears can heal:<br> + And the crimson stain that was of Cain<br> + Became Christ's snow-white seal.</p> + +<p>VI</p> + +<p> In Reading gaol by Reading town<br> + There is a pit of shame,<br> + And in it lies a wretched man<br> + Eaten by teeth of flame,<br> + In a burning winding-sheet he lies,<br> + And his grave has got no name.</p> + +<p> And there, till Christ call forth the dead,<br> + In silence let him lie:<br> + No need to waste the foolish tear,<br> + Or heave the windy sigh:<br> + The man had killed the thing he loved,<br> + And so he had to die.</p> + +<p> And all men kill the thing they love,<br> + By all let this be heard,<br> + Some do it with a bitter look,<br> + Some with a flattering word,<br> + The coward does it with a kiss,<br> + The brave man with a sword!</p> + +<p>APPENDIX</p> + +<p><i>From "Percy's Reliques"--Volume I.</i></p> + +<p>THE FROLICKSOME DUKE</p> + +<p>Printed from a black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection.</p> + +<p>KING ESTMERE</p> + +<p>This ballad is given from two versions, one in the Percy +folio<br> +manuscript, and of considerable antiquity. The original version +was<br> +probably written at the end of the fifteenth century.</p> + +<p>ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE</p> + +<p>One of the earliest known ballads about Robin Hood--from the +Percy folio<br> +manuscript.</p> + +<p>KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID</p> + +<p>This ballad is printed from Richard Johnson's <i>Crown Garland +of<br> +Goulden Roses,</i> 1612.</p> + +<p>THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY</p> + +<p>This ballad is composed of innumerable small fragments of +ancient<br> +ballads found throughout the plays of Shakespeare, which Thomas +Percy<br> +formed into one.</p> + +<p>SIR ALDINGAR</p> + +<p>Given from the Percy folio manuscript, with some additional +stanzas<br> +added by Thomas Percy to complete the story.</p> + +<p>EDOM O'GORDON</p> + +<p>A Scottish ballad--this version was printed at Glasgow in 1755 +by Robert<br> +and Andrew Foulis. It has been enlarged with several stanzas, +recovered<br> +from a fragment of the same ballad, from the Percy folio +manuscript.</p> + + +<p>From the Percy folio manuscript, amended by two or three +others printed<br> +in black-letter. Written about the time of Elizabeth.</p> + +<p>SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE</p> + +<p>Given from a printed copy, corrected in part by an extract +from the<br> +Percy folio manuscript.</p> + + +<p>THE CHILD OF ELLE</p> + +<p>Partly from the Percy folio manuscript, with several +additional stanzas<br> +by Percy as the original copy was defective and mutilated.</p> + +<p>KING EDWARD IV AND THE TANNER OF TAM WORTH</p> + +<p>The text in this ballad is selected from two copies in +black-letter. One<br> +in the Bodleian Library, printed at London by John Danter in +1596. The<br> +other copy, without date, is from the Pepys Collection.</p> + +<p>SIR PATRICK SPENS</p> + +<p>Printed from two manuscript copies transmitted from Scotland. +It is<br> +possible that this ballad is founded on historical fact.</p> + +<p>EDWARD, EDWARD</p> + +<p>An old Scottish ballad--from a manuscript copy transmitted +from<br> +Scotland.</p> + +<p>KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS</p> + +<p>Version from an old copy in the <i>Golden Garland,</i> +black-letter,<br> +entitled <i>A lamentable Song of the Death of King Lear and his +Three<br> +Daughters.</i></p> + +<p>THE GABERLUNZIE MAN</p> + +<p>This ballad is said to have been written by King James V of +Scotland.</p> + +<p><br> +<i>From "Percy's Reliques"--Volume II.</i></p> + +<p>THE KNIGHT AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER</p> + +<p>Printed from an old black-letter copy, with some +corrections.</p> + +<p>KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY</p> + +<p>This ballad was abridged and modernized in the time of James I +from one<br> +much older, entitled <i>King John and the Bishop of +Canterbury.</i> The<br> +version given here is from an ancient black-letter copy.</p> + +<p>BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY</p> + +<p>Given, with some corrections, from an old black-letter copy, +entitled<br> +<i>Barbara Alien's Cruelty, or the Young Man's Tragedy.</i></p> + +<p>FAIR ROSAMOND</p> + +<p>The version of this ballad given here is from four ancient +copies in<br> +black-letter: two of them in the Pepys' Library. It is by Thomas +Delone.<br> +First printed in 1612.</p> + +<p>THE BOY AND THE MANTLE</p> + +<p>This is a revised and modernized version of a very old +ballad.</p> + +<p>THE HEIR OF LINNE</p> + +<p>Given from the Percy folio manuscript, with several additional +stanzas<br> +supplied by Thomas Percy.</p> + +<p>SIR ANDREW BARTON</p> + +<p>This ballad is from the Percy folio manuscript with additions +and<br> +amendments from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys' +Collection.<br> +It was written probably at the end of the sixteenth century.</p> + +<p>THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL GREEN</p> + +<p>Given from the Percy folio manuscript, with a few additions +and<br> +alterations from two ancient printed copies.</p> + +<p>BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY</p> + +<p>Given from an old black-letter copy.</p> + +<p>THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE</p> + +<p>The version of an ancient black-letter copy, edited in part +from the<br> +Percy folio manuscript.</p> + +<p>GIL MORRICE</p> + +<p>The version of this ballad given here was printed at Glasgow +in 1755.<br> +Since this date sixteen additional verses have been discovered +and added<br> +to the original ballad.</p> + +<p>CHILD WATERS</p> + +<p>From the Percy folio manuscript, with corrections.</p> + +<p>THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON</p> + +<p>From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys' +Collection.</p> + +<p>THE LYE</p> + +<p>By Sir Walter Raleigh. This poem is from a scarce miscellany +entitled<br> +<i>Davison's Poems, or a poeticall Rapsodie divided into sixe +books ...<br> +the 4th impression newly corrected and augmented and put into a +forme<br> +more pleasing to the reader.</i> Lond. 1621.</p> + +<p><br> +<i>From "English and Scottish Ballads."</i></p> + +<p>MAY COLLIN</p> + +<p>From a manuscript at Abbotsford in the Sir Walter Scott +Collection,<br> +<i>Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy.</i></p> + +<p>THOMAS THE RHYMER</p> + +<p><i>Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,</i> No. +97,<br> +Abbotsford. From the Sir Walter Scott Collection. Communicated to +Sir<br> +Walter by Mrs. Christiana Greenwood, London, May 27th, 1806.</p> + +<p>YOUNG BEICHAN</p> + +<p>Taken from the Jamieson-Brown manuscript, 1783.</p> + +<p>CLERK COLVILL</p> + +<p>From a transcript of No. 13 of William Tytler's Brown +manuscript.</p> + +<p>THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER</p> + +<p>From Buchan's <i>Ballads of the North of Scotland,</i> +1828.</p> + +<p>HYND HORN</p> + +<p>From Motherwell's manuscript, 1825 and after.</p> + +<p>THE THREE RAVENS</p> + +<p><i>Melismate. Musicall Phansies. Fitting the Court, Cittie and +Country<br> +Humours.</i> London, 1611. (T. Ravenscroft.)</p> + +<p>THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL</p> + +<p>Printed from <i>Ministrelsy of the Scottish Border</i>, +1802.</p> + +<p> * * * * *</p> + +<p>MANDALAY</p> + +<p>By Rudyard Kipling.</p> + +<p>JOHN BROWN'S BODY</p> + +<p>IT'S A LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY</p> + +<p>By Jack Judge and Harry Williams.</p> + +<p>THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL</p> + +<p>By Oscar Wilde.</p> + + + + +<br> +<br> +<hr> +<br><br><br><br><br><br> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Book of Old Ballads, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOOK OF OLD BALLADS *** + +***** This file should be named 7535-h.htm or 7535-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/5/3/7535/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Phil McLaury, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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